A/N - thanks for the positive reaction to chapter 1! This is a story I've had floating round in my head for a while so I'm really excited to be getting it all typed up, especially knowing you like it!

X.X.X.X

Hermione fiddled anxiously with the hem of her dress - she needed to occupy her hands when she was nervous and it had been her new year's resolution to stop biting her nails. She had made it thus far without biting but if there was going to be a day all her hard work was ruined, it would be today. She had always found the ministry oppressive and she was hard pushed to recall any memories of the place that were remotely positive. Firstly there was the "misadventure" in fifth year to the Department of Mysteries (her hand instinctively traced the scar Dolohov had left her as she reminisced), then the disastrous polyjuice experience to find the locket. The only time she'd set foot in the Ministry since then was for Severus Snape's trial, passionately testifying in his defence. Yet even that trip to the ministry didn't end how she'd wanted, and to this day she could vividly remember the look on his face as he was led away from the protesting crowd. Acceptance. Fully resigned to his fate, and perhaps a hint of relief too? In all honesty that look made her blood boil more than the verdict itself.

She had researched every line of appeal in the following weeks, frustrated with her lack of progress. Weeks turned into months, and months into years before the opportunity presented itself to finally free him. On the day the Law was passed she had owled Kingsley immediately with a petition for Severus' freedom.

"You understand the scrutiny you will be under following this decision, Hermione? You may deny and resent your fame but it exists nonetheless. This decision will not cause ripples, but tidal waves in the community - for many still do not see Severus as you see him. I trust you have taken this all into consideration before filing for his release."

She had taken that all into consideration and found that she really didn't care. She had handled scrutiny from the media plenty and she easily remedied that simply by never reading the Daily Prophet. People would believe whatever they wanted to believe, and frankly, anyone who judged her for this decision wasn't worthy of her time or energy anyway.

She was pulled out of her memories by the door opening, at which point she noticed she had partially unpicked her hem leaving the bottom of her dress entirely uneven. Some first impressions, huh.

Severus Snape looked exactly as she remembered albeit about several stone lighter. His face was sunken and pale, and despite looking decidedly unhealthy, he still managed to look intimidating. She tried to gauge his emotion from his face, wondering whether he would be angry - she imagined him berating her for meddling. But it seemed his time incarcerated had not diminished his ability to mask his facial expressions.

The Auror accompanying him spoke directly to Hermione.

"The contract is signed by all parties and the conditions you sent to the Minister have been agreed. You are now free to take Mr Snape back to your residence."

With this he swiftly exited the room leaving Hermione alone with her ex-professor and a rather awkward silence, her Gryffindor

bravery choosing to fail her in the moment. All she could muster was a feeble "Hello, Sir."

Severus took a moment to observe the woman in front of him. Physically he'd never paid much attention to his students' appearances, the thought disturbed him greatly - but she looked pretty much as he remembered albeit 5 years older. His obsidian eyes locked onto her chestnut ones and he was struck by the memory of the last time this happened. He hadn't expected her to testify on his behalf, assuming all bridges with any Order member or student had been well and truly burnt when he killed Dumbledore. The ferocity and eloquence with which she spoke had taken him quite by surprise, offering both personal anecdotes and strong legal defence well beyond her years. Then again, she'd always fully dedicated herself to any task or project - throwing herself in head first no matter the consequences. Part of him had hoped she'd done enough, but the Wizengamot were being notoriously harsh with their judgment - and regardless of his true loyalty, he had committed crimes. 9 years he was given. Deep down he was secretly happy with the verdict. He was never meant to survive the war, his death was the price he had accepted for all his wrongdoings. But survive he had, so a stint in Azkaban was an appropriate substitute he reckoned.

"I do hope this arrangement is agreeable to you, Sir. I could not bear to think of you incarcerated for a day longer."

He contemplated his response carefully. How did he really feel about it all?

"Loath as I was to indebt myself to another Master, or Mistress in this case, there are very few people with whom living would be less enjoyable than Azkaban. I do not think you are on that list, Miss Granger."

She wanted to think it an acceptable response, but couldn't deny that his accusation of being indebted to her stung slightly. Even if it was an entirely reasonable thought. The poor man had spent half his life on a knife edge, simultaneously serving two masters. The wording in the contract about providing employment was vague and open to interpretation, why should he not envisage a life of servitude? He knew nothing about her life and what employment she could offer.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Sir. I don't want you to feel indebted to me, I am only striving to right the wrong from years ago. I should have done more in your defence…"

"Please don't play for my pity, you are not the one who has been imprisoned for half a decade. And whilst we are on the subject of feelings, I do hope you're not harbouring a childish fantasy of a blossoming friendship? I can be civil, and I will be as a show of gratitude for getting me out of Azkaban - but this is a means to an end for me."

He watched the colour drain from her cheeks, but he felt no guilt. He had said far worse to students before, to her indeed. Once he'd used that slur on Lily, the damage had been done so he let the floodgates open. He purposefully said rude and hurtful things to everyone, a perverse part of him hoping that something else (anything else) would take top spot in the list of worst things he'd ever said. He found nothing came close but by the time he reached that realisation, his soul had become so dark it mattered very little.

"Noted. Are you ready to leave, Sir?"

Hermione almost asked about his possesions, but she knew that the clothes he'd worn to his trial had been incinerated and his wand had been snapped. All he currently owned were the Azkaban-issued clothes on his back.

She reached into her cardigan pocket and fished out the empty water bottle that would be their portkey. The paperwork to connect her private floo to the ministry would have taken far too long, and she wanted him out as soon as possible. It was likely, with 5 years incarcerated, he would vomit regardless which way they traveled. She wasn't a huge fan herself! Offering the Portkey to him, he placed his large hand on the opposite side to hers.

Time to take him home - she thought.