Post war Severus/Hermione story. Hermione comes back to Hogwarts to complete her NEWTs, Professor Snape has also returned. With what she now knows about him, Hermione finds herself intruiged, particularly as he seems more troubled than ever.

Hermione Granger knew better than to be afraid of Thestrals. She knew that their skeletal bodies, reptilian faces and leathery wings were much less interesting than their enhanced intelligence; their ability to understand language, find locations and intuitively differentiate friend from foe. She knew too that their reputation as omens of misfortune was entirely undeserved, and they could no more help their association with death than she could help her bushy hair. But standing in the dark, gloomy evening of September 1st, watching far, far too many students look at them, see them for the first time, sent a chill down her spine nonetheless. All these children should simply get into the carriages and chatter mindlessly amongst themselves on the ride to Hogwarts. They shouldn't know what was pulling them, much less be able to see it. A group of fourth years approached one of the beasts and as one brave girl raised her hand to touch the horse's bony neck, her friend burst into tears.

"Come on." Said a quiet, airy voice to her right. "They'll come when they're ready."

Reluctantly, Hermione tore her eyes from the scene before her and allowed herself to be guided into the nearest carriage. She took Ginny's left hand as she sat down, while Luna took Ginny's right, and the three of them sat in silence as they made the journey back to their school.

Breathe. Just breathe.

This had been her secret mantra ever since the final battle, 3 months and 30 days ago. The space between that day and this felt like an age, felt like no time at all. It had kept her together in the immediate aftermath, the healing, the hustle and bustle, counting the dead. It had kept her eyes dry during funeral after funeral, and her tears quiet as she'd done her best to take care of the Weasleys after they'd buried Fred. She had kept her composure throughout every trial she had been required to attend, and a few she had opted to go to, and had only become breathless during her ferocious defence of Severus Snape, while the man himself laid unconscious in St Mungo's. She had even held it together when she had restored her parents' memories, only for them to reject her in fear and send her away. It was too painful to think of that now, so she turned her gaze outward, and looked at the approaching castle. It had sustained heavy damages during the war and parts were still undergoing repairs, but despite this, it was still breathtakingly beautiful to look at.

Initially, the decision to go back to Hogwarts to complete her final year had seemed like an easy one, but she had felt the absence of the two boys more keenly with every passing second since she had boarded the Hogwarts Express. After a year on the run together and summer spent rarely apart, she already missed them to the point of hurt, despite the slight awkwardness between her and Ron since they had given it a go romantically and found it just didn't work. It was only Hermione, Lavender Brown, Hannah Abbot and Draco Malfoy that had returned to complete their last year at Hogwarts, the rest of their cohort having either sat their exams during the summer or accepted work. A few had left the country with their families, an impulse Hermione understood wholeheartedly. They were each to have their own room at Hogwarts, which she was grateful for, though she suspected her and Ginny would end up sharing a bed whenever their nightmares got the better of them. Her friendship with Ginny had strengthened to the point of sisterhood over the summer, and Hermione was beyond thankful for the redhead's warm and solid form next to hers.

The night sky was moody as she looked up to the ceiling in the Great Hall, and the students were subdued and withdrawn. Hermione took her place next to Ginny, and Lavender came and sat with them too, sharing a grim smile that made the scars on her face stretch and disfigure. She surveyed the staff table with a quiet sort of interest, managing a slightly wider smile at Neville sat up there with Professor Sprout. He was her apprentice for the year, and would take over as Herbology Professor next year when the Head of Hufflepuff retired. The teachers looked tired and drawn, most having spent their summer helping with the repairs and preparing to deal with a student body suffering from physical as well as mental scars. They would have their own scars to contend with as well. Hermione's eyes drifted over the dark figure at the far end of the table, still in somewhat disbelief that he was not only healed and free, but had also decided to return to Hogwarts after what could only be the worst year of his life spent in charge here. He looked much the same man as he had ever been, dark haired, sallow skinned, but he looked thin bordering on gaunt, his eyes were dark rimmed and dull and as her gaze moved to his neck, she caught the faint glimmer betraying the Glamour he must be using to hide his scarring. In an instant, Hermione was back in the Shrieking Shack, his screams still echoing in her head as she watched the blood pool around his limp form. Lavender kicked her lightly under the table, and Hermione flashed her a grateful smile as she tore her eyes away from Professor Snape and forced herself to breathe deeply. Her cheeks heated in shame as she cursed herself for perhaps the thousandth time for leaving him on the floor there, for not checking to see if there was a pulse, for not doing a damn thing to help him, and, perhaps worst of all, for asking Minerva to go and fetch his body because she couldn't face it. It was Minerva who had found him still alive, and Poppy who had saved his life. Hermione, who owed him her safety, her life, and the lives of her friends, had done nothing but cry silently in the corner of the Hospital Wing, feeling all-encompassing guilt consuming her, and done her best to make herself useful.

Minerva – Professor McGonagall, she chided herself – now led the first years into the hall, and something about the new Headmistresses strength and resolve, despite the tightness of her eyes and the paleness in her face, made Hermione's throat feel hot and uncomfortable. Even the first years, it seemed, were not completely exempt from the trauma of the last year, they too seemed withdrawn, older than their diminutive 11 years, and there were far less of them than she had ever seen before.

That night saw Hermione staring at the ceiling, lying in her four-poster bed, still wide awake. Her new quarters were light and airy, she could access them through the Common Room in Gryffindor tower or through a little corridor on the 5th floor, and she liked having the choice. She had an ensuite, and a couple of small sofas in an open plan lounge area, and (she made a mental note to thank Professor McGonagall next time she saw her) plenty of bookshelves, a desk and a window seat. Hermione stood, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and made her way over that window seat, pulling the blanket tighter around herself as she surveyed the scene before her. The moon appeared periodically through the clouds, lighting the fields and the lake. It was peaceful, serene and somehow so lonely that it made her want to weep. Harry and Ron would be starting their Auror training next week, her parents were probably just starting their morning, and she was here, awake, alone.

Alive she reminded herself fiercely, cross with herself for feeling so maudlin. They had won the sodding war, they had survived, this should be a happy time. Hermione sighed. Professor McGonagall had asked the 8th years to stay behind after the ceremony, and the 4 of them made an odd-looking group. Hermione had watched Professor Snape lead the Slytherins out of the hall, their faces almost as serious as his, and realised with a jolt this would be a very difficult time for them, their standing within the school as fragile as it was. McGonagall had told them they were expected to study and behave the same as the rest of the students in class, but they didn't have a curfew and were free to leave the castle at weekends as they desired. They were each to meet with their Head of House once a month to discuss how they were doing, and there was to be a psychiatrist in the school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays who they were strongly encouraged to go and see. Finally, she directed them to their new quarters, one at a time, saving Hermione for last.

"Did you hear what I said, Miss Granger?"

"Yes." She had answered with a start. "East wing of the fifth floor, small corridor in between the 3rd suit of armour on the left and the painting of a dancing hippo. The password is golden eagle."

"Are you okay, dear?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," she scrubbed her hands over her face. "It's just a lot."

"You can call me 'Minerva' when we're alone." A small but genuine smile had lightened the Headmistresses face. "Why don't you tell me what you were thinking?"

"I was thinking Draco Malfoy looks like shit." Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, mortified, but Minerva only let out a harsh laugh and squeezed her arm.

"You're not wrong." She'd said, her eyes shining with mirth, before she quickly sobered. "But do the boy a favour and don't tell him that, he'd be having a hard enough time without both his parents in Azkaban."

Hermione had nodded, feeling real sadness for a boy who had had about as little chance in life as his dour Head of House.

Lessons were normal. And this felt so odd to Hermione that she barely knew how to process them. It was, in so many ways, as if nothing had ever happened. And then … and then someone would flinch at nothing, start at the slightest sound, grab for a wand when a chair was pushed back. Her heart would race in those few, suspended seconds, and more than once she had leapt to her feet, wand aloft, only to sink back down into her chair a few moments later, face hot with humiliation made all the worse by the fact that no one took the slightest bit of notice.

Lessons with him were worst of all. It was as if he had died that night. His words still often held a cruelty to them, he was still composed, controlled and utterly formidable, yet at the same time he was a mere shadow, barely alive. His eyes were dark and lifeless, his face white and empty, his very being seemed hollow. And Hermione, who was one of the few permitted to see his memories, knew of his secrets; his hidden hurts, his untold desires and had laid awake imagining the depths of his aloneness and his sorrow more times than she would care to admit. And he hadn't acknowledged her at all. He knew nothing of her and clearly didn't care to. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine why it made her want to lay down and cry.

One blustery evening in early October found Hermione, Ginny, Lavender, Neville and Luna sprawled around the little living room in Hermione's quarters, each holding a sweet tea and casting half an eye over the Marauders Map. Harry had given it to her just before the start of term and it had become an odd feature of their Friday nights, keeping an eye out for trouble they knew wasn't coming.

"Everyone's okay." Said Ginny firmly, her eyes sweeping over the Common Rooms.

"Everyone's okay." Hermione repeated, unable to stop herself from looking over the dungeons once again.

"No one," said Luna, her soft voice unusually loud "is okay. Not one single person in this castle is anything remotely close to okay."

Lavender burst into tears. Luna and Ginny went to comfort her. Hermione's eyes tracked Draco's dot, alone in bed at 8pm and then Snape's, still pacing in his office as he had been for the last hour, and felt the truth to Luna's words settle deeply into her stomach.

Hermione watched him as she made notes in lessons, she watched his pale hands at his sides, no longer moving through the air to emphasize a particular point. She watched them chop and dice ingredients, graceful, but slow, listless. She listened for the slight rasp to his velvet voice, which only appeared at the very end of morning lessons if they'd been particularly lecture-heavy, or was quietly present throughout most of the final period of the day. The first time she had heard it, her eyes had moved automatically to the place on his neck she knew was scarred from Nagini's bite, and her breathing had hitched as she'd again seen the corresponding shimmer betraying the magic he used to hide it. Adrenaline had shot through her as images from that fateful night had swarmed around her, and she only noticed she'd cut herself when he swept over and healed her finger with a muttered spell.

"Pay attention." He'd snapped.

And Hermione had stood frozen for several minutes more before she'd finally pulled herself together enough to hurriedly finish her potion.

She watched him at mealtimes too, and in the corridors. She saw he ate little, and spoke even less. She noticed him brush aside any attempt at conversation from his colleagues, and scowl at any student who dared to acknowledge him. He was finally free. Finally unburdened. And clearly even more lost than she was.

One Sunday evening she had been sitting with Neville by the edge of the lake, and she'd seen his dark figure walking towards the gates.

"Must be heading back to Dumbledore's tomb." Said Neville, as he watched her watch Professor Snape. "He goes there a lot."

"He does?" Hermione asked, curiosity burning over her.

"Yeah," Neville replied. "I can't imagine how rough last year must have been for him. Or how awful it must have been to kill a friend. I reckon he finds some sort of peace visiting the grave. Like George does with Fred's."

Hermione nodded and they resumed their conversation about mandrake fertilizer, but there was a deep, dull ache under her sternum that wouldn't subside as she struggled to dispel the image of Snape sat alone by Dumbledore's grave, seeking a solace she doubted he'd ever find there.

"How was it seeing the boys?" Minerva asked her.

Hermione thought of the mid-October chill, and Harry's bright green eyes. Lily's eyes. She thought of the butterbeer sitting heavily in her stomach, and the stale sandwich she had barely managed to eat. She thought of how Ron had struggled to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds, and the deep, dark feeling that she was now irrevocably separate from her two best friends.

"Miss Granger?"

"It was lovely." Hermione forced a bright smile onto her face. "They're both loving auror training, I think it's given them a real sense of purpose. And please do call me Hermione."

"Hermione. And how are you finding your studies? I worry that you aren't being challenged enough."

"I'm enjoying my studies." She answered. "And to be honest, it's quite nice not be challenged too much right now."

"Fair enough. But let me know if you start to get bored."

"I will." Here, Hermione hesitated. "I would quite like to do a little training with Madam Pomfrey, if she'll have me."

Minerva gave her a shrewd look over her spectacles.

"I didn't know you had an interest in Healing.

"I didn't. But I had to learn quite a lot last year, and it was nice to be useful after the battle. I'm not sure a career in Healing would suit my temperament, but I'd like to learn more, under better circumstances."

"I will ask Poppy." Minerva said slowly. "But understand she had a very hard time last year, she may not agree."

"I understand."

"Have you been to see Doctor Prewett yet?"

Hermione had considered going to see the squib Psychiatrist every week since the start of term, and Minerva had asked her this exact question 4 weeks ago as well.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not ready." She had answered in the same manor last time, and they both knew it was cop out.

Silence fell between them, and Hermione took a ginger biscuit to have something to occupy herself with.

"Hermione, ask whatever it is that has been preoccupying you since you arrived here." Minerva chuckled as Hermione struggled to recover from the shock of being read so easily. "I have known you since you were 11, dear. I can tell when you have a question you wish to ask."

She frowned, unsure how exactly she wanted to proceed.

"How are the Slytherins doing?"

The twinkle that had appeared in the Headmistresses brown eyes went out so quickly she almost regretted asking the question.

"I don't really know." Minerva answered slowly. "I believe there is a lot of in-fighting between those who still harbour pureblood supremacy ideologies and those who wish to move forward. Several of them go to Doctor Prewett every week – Mr Malfoy included – but more of them abhor the idea. I know Professor Snape is spending a lot of time with them and doing everything he can to support them."

"And how is Professor Snape?" Hermione kept her tone light, afraid of betraying how desperately important this question was to her. Afraid to examine the importance even in her own mind.

"I don't know." Here, Minerva sighed deeply and turned her head to look out the window. "He had a terrible time here last year. I gave him hell. We all did. It is no wonder he does not wish to be reconciled with any of us." There was a long pause. "But I wish he had someone."

The genuine concern and sadness coming from the old woman in front of her made Hermione uneasy.

"Does he go and see Doctor Prewett?"

"No," Minerva answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He isn't ready."

She stood and turned her back on Hermione, but not before she saw the first tear fall, and run down the lines around her eyes. Hermione hesitated for the briefest of moments, her heart hammering in her chest, before she rose from her chair, walked behind the desk, and pulled Minerva McGonagall into a tight hug.

Poppy Pomfrey, it transpired, had been absolutely delighted with the idea of having Hermione with her twice a week. The Mediwitch didn't say as much, but Hermione got the impression she had found the sudden reduction in her workload a bit of a shock to the system, and she seemed pleased to have the company. She now had 2 hours after dinner on a Monday and her free period first thing on a Friday morning added to her schedule and coded in yellow.

"Happy Halloween, dear!"

The mediwitch's greeting felt like a punch to the gut, and stopped Hermione in her tracks. Could it really be 31st October already? She glanced at the calendar above Poppy's desk. Of course it was. It was 16 years ago today that Voldemort had murdered James and Lily Potter. This time 16 years ago, they had woken up, got dressed, looked after their son, and had no idea they would never do so again. Hermione had never noted the date before, Harry had certainly never seemed to either, but James and Lily had never felt so real to her before, so tangible. Unbidden, Lily as the girl she had been in Snape's memories flashed before her eyes, vibrant, beautiful, unattainable. Grief rose up into her throat, and she barely noticed Poppy guide her to a chair and her take her hand as tears, hot, unnecessary, irrational tears fell silently from her eyes and onto her lap.

"Tea or a Calming Draught?" Poppy repeated the question twice more before Hermione was able to reply.

"T-tea." She said finally, and gratefully accepted the hot mug of tea that was handed to her a few minutes later. "Sorry," she murmured, once the unexpected wave of emotion had begun to pass, "I just hadn't realised it has Halloween already, you know, the anniversary of Harry's parents-"

"Oh my goodness!" Poppy exclaimed. "I'd never – how have I never considered that?"

"I hadn't either," Hermione said quietly. "For some reason this year, it just, got to me."

"Understandable." Poppy said kindly. "Grief changes how we think about everything."

"Yes, it does." With a huge, conscious effort, Hermione forced herself firmly back into the present. "We were going to talk about the different ways to heal magical burns today, is that right?"

Hermione had felt the losses of the Potters heavily in her stomach all day, and entered the Potions classroom with no small amount of trepidation. The room today seemed just as dark and daunting as it had in her first year. She noticed again the odd shadows the torches cast around the desks, the eery jars of pickled creatures lining the walls, and of course, the dark, imposing man stood at the front of the room, glaring at them all. His hair hung around his face in limp, greasy curtains, his skin was sallow, his cheeks sunken, and she knew, beneath his thin lips, his teeth were yellow and uneven. Hermione sat down in her usual seat, and for once, she simply watched Snape as he lectured, rather than made hasty notes. She looked at him for perhaps the first time, through the eyes of an adult, and was unable to prevent herself from wondering why his personal hygiene had always been so poor. What did it say about his psyche that the simple act of caring for himself was something he didn't bother with? She fetched her ingredients from the Potions cupboard and gave the textbook a final glance through before she began this week's potion; the base for Veritaserum. Greasy hair and yellow teeth were a relatively easy fix even in the muggle world. Perhaps he thought himself above such trivial things, brilliant as he was, but then Hermione remembered something her Mother had said to her once: happy people aren't dirty. The memory of Snape kneeling in the dust and mould of Sirius' old bedroom, tears dripping from the end of his long nose as he clutched the decaying letter from Lily flashed in front of Hermione's eyes before she was able to repress it. She saw again the little lost boy in grubby, oversized clothes, staring at the ethereal redhead with undisguised, doomed longing. She saw the dark, hopeless young man he had become as he thew himself at Dumbledore's feet and begged for her life to be saved. And finally, most painfully, she saw him sobbing so hard he could barely breathe, wishing for death rather than suffering the pain of losing the only woman he had ever loved.

"Miss Granger!" Snape had shouted so loudly the whole class jumped. "You have added the hellebore 5 stages too early, the entire potion is ruined!"

It wasn't like Snape to shout. He had no need of it, his mere presence kept his classes quiet and obedient. Hermione looked down at her potion. She had indeed ruined it. Hermione glanced up at Snape, his lips were pulled back in a snarl, he was breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, his eyes were wide and wild, and she thought again, of just how much pain he must be in today.

In one swoop of his arm, her cauldron flew across the room and crashed into the wall, narrowly missing two students on its way.

"OUT!" Snape screamed, his face twisting. "EVERYONE OUT!"

The students scrambled to obey him as fast as possible, most not even bothering to Vanish their potions or clear their desks before they ran from the room.

Hermione watched them go, feeling oddly detached from the whole situation. Snape had moved to the front of his classroom and stood with his back to her. Unsure what to do and not trusting herself to act rationally right now, Hermione did the only sensible thing she could think of. She started cleaning.

She'd Vanished all the remaining potions and finished clearing about half of the desks (carefully, and without magic) before Snape acknowledged her.

"What untold level of arrogance have you reached to assume that 'everyone out' simply does not apply to you, Miss Granger?" He hissed.

Hermione turned to him and was relieved to note that despite the obvious anger and dislike etched onto his harsh features, he seemed to have begun to come back to himself.

"This was all my fault," she said honestly. "The least I can do is clear up."

She turned back to the classroom and resumed saving what ingredients she could, wondering just how true her words had been. Had her spoilt potion simply pushed him over the edge on what had to be a very difficult day for him, or had he seen something on her face that had vexed him so? Surely even a skilled Legilimens like him couldn't have picked up on what was in her head? Uneasily, she stole a glance at Professor Snape, he was marking essays at his desk, ignoring her entirely. She didn't think he knew she had seen his memories, but then again she'd never actually asked. Hermione finished storing the final set of ingredients and slowly approached Snape's desk, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When his dark eyes finally met hers, they were emotionless, so at odds with the unbridled rage that had filled them earlier.

"I'm sorry for your loss." She said softly, then swiftly exited the classroom before he had a chance to say anything.

Later that night saw Hermione once again staring at the ceiling in her four-poster bed, unable to sleep. She hadn't expected to see Snape at dinner, but his absence still troubled her. Again, her Mother's words about happiness and dirtiness came back to her. This time though, she wasn't sure it was quite so simple. Snape didn't smell unclean, so he must wash regularly. He also didn't have bad breath, so he must clean his teeth. Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face thinking of the absurdity of her own mind. He was just such an utter mystery to her. Perhaps that was why she found herself so intrigued by him. She knew more about him than most people, enough to admire and respect him hugely, enough to worry about him, and yet at the same time, she felt she knew nothing at all.

Another week passed and Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Lavender and Neville were once again in her little lounge, drinking tea and watching over the Marauders Map while the rain pounded against the windows. Hermione had been checking over Lavender's Transfiguration homework, talking her through one of the finer points of Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, when Luna cleared her throat loudly.

"Next week, I'm inviting Draco Malfoy." The silence was so loud that Hermione almost wanted to laugh. "And Hannah Abbot."

"What on earth would you want to do that for?" There was an anger to Ginny's tone that signalled danger. The redhead's temper had become far more volatile in the aftermath of Fred's death.

"Hannah did help us last year Ginny, I know she was a bit of a wet blanket when we were younger, but she fought alongside us in the battle, her Mother was killed by Death Eaters too. She's one of us." Lavender said.

"Yes fine." Ginny waved this point away with an irritated jerk of her hand. "But I don't want Malfoy here."

"You know he didn't want to do any of the things he did, Ginny. He was forced to join You-Know-Who."

"But he wasn't forced to be a little shit all throughout school was he?!" Ginny was suddenly on her feet. "He took every opportunity to flounce his wealth and his disgusting ideologies in our faces! He took every opportunity to call Hermione a mudblood! He tortured you for Merlin's sake Luna! How can you seriously be thinking of inviting him here for tea and a chit chat?!"

"You weren't there, in that basement, Gin." Luna said quietly. "He hated every second of it. He hated himself."

Ginny sank back onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.

"He refused to identify Harry, when we were captured." Hermione said gently, putting her hand on her friends back. "And he tried to stop Crabb and Goyle from killing us. I think he has realised just how wrong he was."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of him being here either." Lavender chimed in, sitting on Ginny's other side. "But I think we should consider it. We are trying to move forwards."

"He's not one of us." Ginny looked up at them, her eyes red rimmed.

"No." Luna agreed, moving to kneel in front of her. "But he's not one of them either. And he is all alone."

Sighing, Ginny stood and walked across the room to look out of the window.

"Next week, invite Hannah." She said finally. "And I will think on including the ferret."

Hermione smiled slightly.

"Maybe don't call him that if ever does come here, Gin."

"I'll call him whatever I please." She snapped, but her face had softened as she turned back to them.

It was time again for her monthly catch up with the Headmistress. November had brought with it cold rains and icy winds, and the weather suited the mood inside the castle. The students seemed to have withdrawn once again and were quiet and subdued in the corridors and at mealtimes. Hermione felt a little grim herself, and her mind kept wondering back to all the losses they had sustained. Hannah had indeed joined their Friday soirees and had slotted into place relatively easily. She was more composed and controlled than Hermione remembered her, she hadn't said much, but when she had joined in, her contributions had been thoughtful and genuine. No one had mentioned Draco.

Minerva seemed less forthcoming as well this time. But perhaps she was simply overworked, effectively being Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor's Head of House. Neville would take over this position next year once he had completed his training, hopefully that would bring some respite. They had discussed her classes, her training with Poppy and Hannah's addition to their little group.

"I understand you lost Gryffindor 50 points in a single class yesterday." Minerva said heavily.

"Yes." She replied, straitening her back.

"What on earth did you do?"

Hermione thought back to yesterday morning. She thought of Potions class, of Professor Snape's bloodshot eyes and rasping voice. She had been the last one in the classroom, having taken her time to pack up her things and bring him her homework.

"How are you?" She'd asked, her voice soft.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" He'd snarled, his eyes suddenly alight with anger.

"50 points for asking you how you are?" She'd replied incredulously.

"50 points for impertinence. For overstepping. For being arrogant and entitled and stupid enough to think for one moment that it is in any way your place to ask such questions." Snape had risen from his desk and leant towards her, his face had been dark and furious.

"50 points for giving a shit about you." She'd countered, watching a storm build behind his black eyes at her defiance.

"I suggest you get out of my sight this instant, or it will be 150 points." He'd hissed, teeth bared, and although points hardly seemed important anymore, she'd sensed this was a losing battle, and walked away with her chin aloft.

Hermione looked Minerva straight in the eyes.

"I asked Professor Snape how he was." She said calmly.

Minerva's face remained completely blank for several heartbeats, then her lips turned upwards, and a slow smile spread across her aged face.

"50 points to Gryffindor." Was all she said.

I'm back. And I'm a lot older than I was when I wrote my other fics. My OTP is still the same, but I wanted to write a story where the age difference and power dynamic doesn't trouble me so much.

As an actual, real grown up now, I don't have a huge amount of free time, but I will do my best to update regularly. This story has been rattling my around my head for a few years now so I'm really excited to get it out!