A/N: Thanks a lot for all the beautiful reviews! Here's another treat! :)

Enjoy!

Chapter 45: Home Alone

Crookshanks sat by Hermione as she rummaged through a drawer of CDs and DVDs below the television unit. Movies and songs she was once so fond of. Blur, Suede, Oasis… Her Mum loved to have music playing in the house, especially during Christmas. Memories danced before her eyes, behind a blur sheet of unshed tears.

It was hard to breathe when she felt so clogged with grief. She tried to remember every detail of seeing her parents in her unconsciousness after her fall.

Hermione shut the drawer, she could not bring herself to listen to those songs without them in the house.

She looked outside the window, Severus had spent most of the morning in the verandah. She believed he wanted to give her privacy. Yet, his mere presence somehow was the only thing keeping her together.

For her, since arriving, the morning had been a blur of going through her almost empty room, then her parents' room which still held most of their belongings. She found some photo albums in their cupboard, the ones Severus did not bring to the Spinner's End. He could only procure the ones stored in the living area drawers, most of those drawers were empty.

Hermione had also cleaned the kitchen and threw the food away. For no reason, she had gone through the shelves there, idly staring at the spice jars and utensils.

Each nook and corner harboured a memory and Hermione often found herself fixated on one spot.

Her mind reeled every so often to imagine what life would have been, had her parents been alive…

She sighed and beckoned Crookshanks into her lap. Crooks felt like home, at least. The blue blanket was still draped on the couch, in front of the television set; the showpiece of Eiffel Tower was still perched on the coffee table, the television remote was still sitting on the armrest. It felt like any minute, her Mum would call her for lunch or her Dad would come excitedly to her to show her a random article from the newspaper.

Hermione got to her feet gingerly and slowly walked to the door. She opened it to the verandah where Severus' back was turned to her.

"You can come inside, it's really cold here," she said quietly, unable to muster more strength.

He turned to her, his eyes searching her face before he spoke, "When will the solicitor arrive?"

"He must be on his way," she replied with a sigh. She had so little will left to meet Mr. Andrews now. Maybe she should have called him someplace else.

In silence, they went back inside. Hermione lit a small fire with her wand. The house was otherwise chilling. "You can hang your coat here," she gestured towards the coat hanger. One more coat hung on the stand, smelling of her mother's perfume. "The guest room is clean, on the first floor. You can use it for the time being…"

"Please, there is no need for formalities, Granger," he said. "I have come here of my own choice."

Hermione could not insist anymore, she merely nodded and went to sit on the couch. Crookshanks curled against her, radiating warmth. She waited.

UUUUUUU

Granger sat unmoving, the cat close by. Severus inwardly sighed, there was little he could do, and certainly nothing to provide any comfort, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Severus had always felt a barrier between himself and people in general, a space that kept him from empathising with anyone.

He had been apathetic since his days at Hogwarts, just before joining the Dark Lord. It was that apathy and bitterness that drew him to the power the Dark Lord offered. That darkness in him let him commit crimes without as much as a frown, at times.

In fact, when he came to know that Lily was in danger along with her family, he had the audacity to tell Albus to protect Lily, just Lily. He did not have it in himself to consider her young child or even to consider her pain if her child were killed. It never even occurred to him, back then, that Lily, herself, would be heartbroken to learn that her son stood in the harm's way. Severus had been extremely self-cantered even in his grief.

Severus had believed himself to be of that nature, one who did not care for anyone other than himself. Lily's death pained him because it affected him directly, Albus' impending demise angered him because that also was bound to affect him in future.

But Granger… Somehow, her disposition, her sadness reached to him without the restraint of that proverbial barrier. Initially, killing Granger's parents shook him because that, too, had affected him directly. Initially, he was only guilty of his crimes. But now, what he felt towards her was not merely guilt or a sense of responsibility. It was a need he felt, a desperation to somehow, anyhow, comfort her because she was hurting. For the first time, somebody else's sadness affected him so deeply. For the first time, he longed to see somebody else happy.

In the past, he had often tried to placate Lily, but only to earn a place in her life. Everything that he did for her had a motive, a selfish motive of ascending in her good books. He longed for her approval.

But with Granger, he found, appalled, that he had no motives with Granger. He did not care where he stood in her graces. For the first time, kperhaps, he genuinely intended to comfort her.

With Lily, he realised, he used to choose each word carefully when conversing with her, because there was a constant pressure to impress her. But now, his intention was not to impress Granger, but merely help her.

The doorbell rang, disrupting his contemplation. Since when have I started comparing Lily and Granger! He shook his head in disbelief.

Granger went to attend the door. Meanwhile, Severus left the living area to give her privacy, but decided to linger in earshot.

UUUUUUU

Hermione held onto her crutches and made her way to the door. Through the window, she could see Mr. Andrews standing outside. She opened the door to find their old family friend, carrying a briefcase and a small suitcase.

The burly gentleman looked at Hermione with kind eyes. "Nice to see you again, Hermione," he nodded, flashing the bald spot on his head of white hair.

"Hello, Mr. Andrews," she let on a smile. "Please, come."

She watched his eyes travel to her feet, going wide. "Jesus Christ, child, were you in the accident, too?"

Hermione was caught off-guard. She bit her lip before hesitantly nodding. It was not the first lie, neither would it be the last. She led him to the living area where they sat around the coffee table.

Mr. Andrews sat leaning forward. His wary eyes remained on his deceased friends' daughter. "How are you doing, child?"

She tried to flash a reassuring smile that came out more as a grimace. "I am…coping."

He nodded slowly. "I cannot believe it happened with Sam and Jean."

"We often think tragedies happen with the others, not us," Hermione said quietly.

"Indeed," the solicitor sighed. Mr. Andrews was older to her parents. He had known her parents since they first established their clinic. A professional relationship turned into a friendship over the years. "What did the doctors say?"

Hermione caught him eyeing her crutches. "I can walk on my own in a couple of months…"

"And whom are you staying with?" He asked, concerned. "Surely not here, alone."

"No, I'm not…alone," Maybe she was imagining it, but something told her that Severus was right there somewhere. She drew some semblance of her comfort through that knowledge. "I mean…my school is very accommodating at this time…"

"Yes, yes, Jean always spoke high of that school of yours," he nodded. "What were you doing in Australia since so many months?"

"Uh… Mum and Dad were a part of some medical research there…" She immediately made it up. Mr. Andrews didn't look convinced, though. She added, "I was visiting…"

"Oh, well, they never mentioned anything about Australia before," he murmured.

"Uh, would you like to have some tea?" She immediately changed the topic.

"No, thank you, child," he declined. "I would rather begin with what I'm here for."

He kept his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it to reveal a plethora of files and some loose documents. "I took the liberty of collecting all the deeds, and even checked their bank locker for you. Of course, you should handle the key now."

They went over the paperwork about money transfer, property and tax, the impending payment of the employees in their clinic, the decision to shut the clinic, and a slew of other legalities that went over Hermione's head. She was well-versed with the banking system in the Wizarding World and even though she had come with some reading about the Muggle Succession Act and banking, she was mostly at a loss. She was immensely grateful that her solicitor was a truepenny who would never cheat her—that was what her Dad called him.

She was made to sign on several documents, she read files and files of papers, understanding the basics. In the end, she was aware that when she attained the age of majority in the Muggle world, nobody could withdraw from the accounts in her name. By next September, she would be the sole owner of whatever her parents had left. The prospect felt bland to her. In a moment, she would have traded everything last currency in her possession to have her parents back. In fact, the amount of paperwork and responsibilities only intimidated her. Her Mum and Dad should have been here to explain to her about all that…

She picked up the documents of the clinic. "Mr. Andrews, I have decided something."

"Yes?"

"I want to give the clinic up to a charity," she said confidently.

He narrowed his eyes. "The clinic? Are you sure?"

"Yes. In their memory, I want to donate the land for building of an orphanage," she said forlornly. "That's the least I can do…"

"Well, that's a good thought," he sat cracking his knuckles. "But I must tell you what a handsome sum you will get if you sell the property."

"They have provided enough for me, Sir," her eyes ran over the table now loaded with papers. "Even after they are gone, I am so well secured financially. I want to donate the clinic to those who don't have that privilege."

The old man smiled. "I appreciate your thinking."

They sat for another hour discussing the charity, the future of their other lands and the house itself. Hermione knew she would never have the strength to relocate to this house, but she also knew that she would never give the last memorabilia of her parents up. She would always possess the house, if only in name. It would always harbour her childhood.

"There is one more thing I have for you, child," Mr. Andrews said, grabbing the suitcase from the floor. Hermione watched him opening the zip and taking out a big, white box from inside.

"What is this?" She asked.

He did not answer, just handed the box to her. Hermione slowly removed the lid and gasped on seeing inside. A folded white garment, embroidered in pearls sat smugly in the box—her mother's wedding gown. "This…" She ran her finger tracing the pearls.

"I brought it from the locker," he said. "I thought you might want to have it."

'…maybe you can wear this on your wedding, too.' Her mother's voice reverberated in her ears.

That was the last straw, Hermione couldn't stop her tears from blinding her anymore. It was all she was left with—a plethora of memories and a wedding dress that was not in her fate to wear. Though sitting in her house, she had an overwhelming ache of homesickness.

UUUUUUU

Severus remained standing behind the door for a long time after the solicitor left. The sky was growing darker outside, the window was coated in mist.

Granger, on her part, sat clutching the white gown to herself. If she was weeping, he could not quite say. She sat still, in the room but far, far away.

Finally she closed the box and kept it away, and slumped back in the couch, drawing her knees to her chest. The cat kept roaming around his witch, unattended.

UUUUUUU

Hermione stared at the black television screen blankly. She knew not how long she sat hugging herself. Crookshanks' purring was all she was coherent of.

A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, though quite hesitantly. Hermione leaned in the touch as if it was her only lifeline. A gentle squeeze was her undoing. She shut her eyes tightly and let the sobs escape.

When the hand was withdrawn, she gasped. She wanted to protest that it was the only thing keeping her sane. She missed the warmth.

Somewhere in the background, the flickering of fire in the hearth intensified. A glass of water was extended towards her. Hermione grasped it in her trembling hands. The cold water washed her throat soothingly.

Severus sat beside her on the couch. Even from some distance between them, she could feel the heat he exuded. His smoky scent was calming to her, it told her that she was not alone.

"If I'm not wrong, Granger, is that a CD player?" He asked in his deep voice, out of the blue.

"Huh?" She looked up, baffled. Her eyes traveled to where he was gesturing, under the T.V. unit. "Y-yes. Yes, it is."

"Ah, technology has always been an attractive factor in the Muggle world," he said. "Although, I have never truly had an opportunity to try it."

"You haven't watched movies on a player?" She asked, still sniffing.

"I have been to the cinema once or twice, long back," he told her.

"Really? That's it?" She wiped her eyes. "I have a whole collection of CDs here."

"Are any worth watching?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Some of these have won Oscars!" Hermione stated. "You can have a look," she gestured towards the drawer.

"Alright." He got up and opened the said drawer. "A collection, indeed."

"There are a lot of music albums, too," she added. "Don't tell me you don't listen to music."

"In case you have forgotten, Madam, I play piano," he smirked.

"Yes, but I only have your word for it," she gave a watery smile.

He snorted in amusement, rummaging through the paraphernalia of the drawer. "How does one decide with so many options?"

"Choose a Christmas movie," she shrugged. "Wait, let me see."

Hermione looked through the CDs, actually sharing his opinion of having too many options until she found the one film apt for the day. "Here."

"Home Alone?" He studied the title. "What is it? A crime-thriller?"

"What? No!" She took the CD back from him, laughing. "It's a Christmas comedy! An Eight-year-old is left back at home while his family goes off on a vacation."

"I can imagine a number of scenarios to convert this plot into a thriller," he quipped. "What sort of irresponsible parents forget to pack a child for a vacation?"

"It's a great movie," she protested. "Now, it's not all that...practical…but it's one of my favourites."

"If you say so," he granted but sceptically.

"You'll like it," she promised. It took Hermione about ten minutes to recall how the player was supposed to be used, that was how out of practice she was.

They settled on the couch comfortably when the film started. Severus sat beside Hermione and Crookshanks curled up in her lap cozily. It was as if the mood had changed in a snap of fingers. She concentrated on the scene in front of her and whenever her focus drifted to more morose issues surrounding her, Severus dragged her back by asking a question or passing a sarcastic remark about the film.

It was while looking at the screen that Hermione realised how effectively Severus had managed to cheer her up. She smiled to herself—for all his introvert attitude and aversion to people in general, he was the one letting her rely on him for the time being, when she needed the support the most.

Hermione checked her watch and was almost shocked to find the day had almost ended. As if on cue, her stomach growled with hunger, complaining about her missed lunch.

"Do you think we should go back?" She asked half-heartedly, showing him her watch.

"If you wish to," he said, giving nothing away.

"I…don't, actually…" She murmured. "I don't think I will really come back here again, at least not for a long time… I…Is it possible to stay here a while longer?"

"It is your house, Granger, is it not?" Severus said nonchalantly.

"Yes, but…you?"

"If you give me your word that my bed will not be infested with cat fur, I am willing to stay," he snorted. Thr familiar in turn hissed at the man disapprovingly.

Hermione smiled, unconsciously petting her cat into calmness. "Crooks doesn't like the guest room."

"A relief."

"Uh, it's getting late, should I make something for us to eat…?"

"No offence, Granger, but I would really appreciate a meal that I can swallow without gagging." A smirk played on his lips.

Hermione tried to purse her lips in an attempt to look offended, but failed when she herself began chuckling. "Let's order something?"

"Sure."

"Pizza?"

"I haven't had pizza in years, to be honest, but I am not averse to the proposition."

She shook her head at him fondly—his formal antics often amused her. "Do you have any preferences? Chicken, bacon or pineapple?"

"Pineapple?" He narrowed his eyes. "What sort of beast would like pineapples on pizza, Merlin."

"I love pineapple on pizza," she said simply.

Mirth danced in his eyes, "I see now why your taste buds do not protest to your own cooked food."

"Come on, you haven't even tasted pineapple pizza to comment upon it!" She rolled her eyes.

"And I would not like to change that."

"Fine. You can enjoy a sad piece of bread with dry meat if that's what you like," she shrugged.

The banter continued until the food was delivered. Severus looked disgusted the entire time Hermione ate her pineapple topped meal with great taste. In a moment of amusement, she offered him a bite—which he roughly declined, muttering something about bizarre Muggle combinations.

While the world celebrated the Christmas Eve with candles, bells and cakes, Severus and Hermione were content in watching a simple American comedy and eating a common meal.

As long as you're here. Hermione drifted off, surrounding by a smoky fragrance, unbeknownst to how her head laid on a strong shoulder comfortably.

UUUUUUU

Every shred of his logic and conscience screamed at Severus to push the witch aside. But that small part that betrayed all sense let him lend his shoulder to her, even if her hair tickled his face.

Severus sat stiff, unmoving, afraid to wake her up. An internal battle claimed his mind—the battle between appropriate and inappropriate, about maintaining boundaries and laying himself open. The arguments were way stronger for distancing himself from her, but for all his supreme intelligence and decisiveness, Severus could not bring himself to push her away, neither literally nor metaphorically.

An old memory reminded him of sitting by her bed in the Hospital Wing while she was in a coma. Back then, he had sat wondering of her plight once she woke up. Today was entirely different.

After watching her struggling between being on the brink of breaking down and keeping herself together for the entire day, he watched her calmness fondly. Stray curls covered most of her face, save for her closed eyelids which moved delicately as she dreamed.

A sliver of pale skin of her neck peeked from her high-neck sweater, gleaming under the soft lighting in the room. He knew he should look away but he couldn't tear his eyes off her, of this brilliant, beautiful witch. His eyes travelled to her face where obstinate curls went hither and yon, but he had somehow come to like her nest of hair. It suited her.

And there it was, on her forehead, a reminder of her struggles and gradual but substantial healing—the scar from her fall. It was silvery, extending between her eyebrow and hairline in a diagonal. He knew it would forever mark her—that it would forever remind her what she had fought and re-emerged triumphant from, like the phoenix whose tears had revived her.

His hand itches to slide a strand of hair from her cheek, but he checked himself immediately—that would be too inappropriate! Not that he could find any semblance of propriety in their situation, but he would never cross that—imperative—line of decency between them.

Severus felt almost overwhelmed with the level of trust she bestowed upon him to sleep so peacefully near him. How could he make anyone feel secure?

He leaned his head on the backrest of the couch. Although he had been feeling it for long, it was today that he could accept it—he was truly fond of Granger's company for inexplicable reasons.

Maybe, just maybe, he was comfortable letting his guards down with someone, after decades.

UUUUUUU

Drops of sleet were falling in a puddle on the street, time and time again pestering the peaceful pool of water.

Hermione's forehead had gotten cool resting against the cold glass of her window. She lifted her head and rubbed the spot. An old shawl was thrown over her legs. There was no sign of the sun on the early Christmas morning.

On the street below, nobody passed by except a very sleepy Mr. Shaw who was walking his over enthusiastic Labrador. He even had his face wrapped in a muffler, due to cold. Most houses were decorated with wreaths outside their door or an outdoor Christmas tree. Old Mrs. Khan's house was decorated in thick flower garlands to the extent of concealing every window pane, the ageing lady adored flowers. Her neighbour, Mr. Crain had a barbeque still sitting outside from his Christmas Eve merrymaking. As a child, Hermione had once celebrated the Barbeque Night at the Crains.

Life for those people had never changed. She had known those people all her life. For them, the Grangers were in Australia. They would soon come to know about the supposed accident that claimed the dentists' lives from Mr. Andrews. If anyone had seen her here, none of those busy folks had inquired, such was the nature of people in a big city like London. Hermione, too, was reluctant to approach them with her new reality. It was a life that had long ago ended for her. If she were to meet herself from six months back, they would be two completely different personalities.

Hermione was not a Muggle anymore, her only identity was that of a witch now, a Muggle-born witch. Her peers from her Muggle school, her teachers from Muggle Primary, the Departmental Store guy, Ben, she had dated one summer—were not a part of Hermione Granger any longer. Because she would never return to this place once she left—for years at least.

Sometimes, she herself ceased to remember her old self. The witch who was constantly only worried about her grades was lost in time. Just a year ago, during Christmas, she had been trying to guide Harry on how to approach Cho Chang and hint Ron of her liking towards him, among other things.

She chuckled to herself. That seemed like years ago.

On this Christmas, she sat in her house for the last time until her next return, whenever it would be, with the war looming over their heads so prominently. Maybe by next Christmas, she would be fighting in the battle alongside her friends. Now, her fears were different or at least more reasonable and intense. She feared not about Susan Bones scoring better at Charms or Ron paying more attention to Lavender Brown. She feared for their lives now—her friends' and Severus', whoever Severus was to her...

Whatever he meant to her, she knew he was somebody too important for her to lose. An ally, maybe a friend, someone close who calmed her, comforted her.

If a year ago somebody had told Hermione that she would be sharing a house with Severus Snape, she would have told them that the problem laid North to their nose and showed them the way to St. Mungo's. But now, while she sat in her old room, the same man who had held her together during her visit to her house slept downstairs, on the couch. She had woken beside this man, content, and even considered going back to sleep still resting her head on his shoulder, before a more sensible voice in her head told her not to take liberties where she had no right to. So reluctantly, she had trotted to her room but only after draping a warm blanket over his shoulders. Waking beside him felt natural, awkwardness did not have a place between them.

She pulled her crutches under her armpits and supported herself up. With clicks and taps, she stepped out of her room. From above the stairs, she could see him sleeping on the living room couch.

For once, he looked relaxed and comfortable even while he was sitting with his head resting on the backrest. He had not been getting sufficient rest since Voldemort had started summoning him more frequently; his headaches were almost permanent at night and during the first half of the day. The Healing Charm she was inventing for his use was almost finished, just needing a final touch when she went back to Hogwarts. With the shadow of fire dancing on his face, Hermione watched him with unconscious fondness. There was something in his presence that worked to soothe her. Something that drew her to him without a coherent explanation. Something was transpiring between them, something that even she was unbeknownst to.

Maybe the reason laid in the little gestures he made—hiding a smile behind his fingers, delivering his sarcastic comments, imparting his vast knowledge... Or when he came out of his shell once in a while—she liked to believe those precious moments of nonchalance were only reserved for her. This man, she could tell, let his introverted self open to her, be it narrating his past to her or watching a film with her.

Hermione returned to her room and eased herself on her bed. She hugged Crooks to herself, a smile playing on her lips. "Whoever he is to me, I'm happy to have him."

A/N: I love the name of this chapter, it's so apt! Lol

Do let me know how you find this chapter? It's a lot of closeness, I'm guessing this chapter will get more reviews than the others...!

Do you think their chemistry is getting better?