Chapter Two

"Surely you must be able find some better use for your time," the erstwhile Potions master commented with a sneer. He was ensconced in his usual seat, a comfortable, Moroccan leather armchair strategically located in the corner of the sitting room with the best view of both the front entrance hall and the door to the kitchen. Situated in front of the window to catch the afternoon light, and to one side of the fireplace for winter warmth, it was the only comfortable chair in the shabby house, and no one else ever dared to try and sit in it. "Books to read. Authority figures to pester. Gainful employment, perhaps?"

"I'm well paid for my work here," Hermione replied primly as she joined him in the sitting room after cleaning up the lunch things. The kitchen at Spinner's End was serviceable, if only just. She couldn't understand why Severus insisted on keeping the dining room shut up, making it necessary to shoehorn a table and chairs into the tiny kitchen, but it was not a subject he was willing to discuss.

"Leaving aside for the moment your tenuous understanding of the meaning of the word 'work', who, may I ask, would pay to have a grown man babysat against his will?"

Hermione lowered herself carefully into the armchair opposite his; it was possible, if not easy, to sit in such a way that none of the broken springs poked through the tattered damask upholstery into any sensitive spots.

The post-meal chats had become one of her favourite parts of the day. While eating, Severus' comments were limited to critiquing her cooking skills, and once the food had settled, he generally stared out the window and moped. It was only in the interval between meals and mopes that they had any real conversation. "The Severus Snape Rehabilitation Foundation."

He sat up and tilted his head forward to the precise angle that maximized the hooding of the glare while minimizing eyebrow interference. "If there is any mercy in the universe, you have just made a rather pathetic attempt at humor."

"It's not a joke." Well, not one she would admit to, anyway. "You are considered the third greatest hero of the war. As soon as I publicized your plight and explained the need for a round-the-clock suicide watch to save your life, contributions came in from all over Britain. It seems that a rather large number of your ex-students are willing to donate their hard-earned Galleons to ensure that a bunch of eager, do-gooder, cheerful Gryffindors can sit around and watch you be miserable. All the contributor's get badges; they've become quite popular." She pulled an oval green badge out of her pocket and held it up for his inpection.

Severus' eyes grew rounder and wider than she had imagined possible. "I see that I have underestimated you, Miss Granger. You are a more ... creative ... torturer than I would have credited. Riddle could have taken lessons in cruelty."

"Don't be silly, Severus. I'm just here to take care of you."

It amused her no end the way he flinched every time she said his name.

In the silence that followed, she picked up the book she had left on the side-table the evening before and pretended to read, surreptitiously checking her watch every minute or two. She didn't think it would take long.

"Third?"

Seven and a half minutes. He'd held out longer than she'd expected. "Pardon?"

"I presume that the public considers the highly overrated Mr. Potter to be the greatest hero of the war, meaning that I have displaced either yourself or the youngest Weasley male from the third position. The only question is which one. This is a question in which I would have no interest, except that it occurs to me that the answer has the potential of solving the mystery of your obsessive vendetta against me. Is it, perhaps, explicable as a misguided grudge for my having unwittingly stolen some shred of your indubitably well earned thunder? Hmm?"

Putting her book down, she attempted to look innocent. It was not a particularly successful attempt. "Neither, actually. You line up third after Neville Longbottom."

His look of horror was something she would treasure for a very long time.

...

It was a very smug Hermione who walked up to the front door of the cottage at Spinner's End a few days later. Molly had been on watch for the night shift, and all should be extremely unwell.

"How was he?"

"Oh, my dear," Molly sighed deeply as she donned her cloak and bonnet, "he's not improving at all, I'm afraid. Nothing seems to cheer him up, though goodness knows I've tried my best. Just now he even managed to find fault with the sausages I fixed for his breakfast. As if I didn't know how to cook a proper sausage. I tell you, Hermione, I'm at my wit's end."

"Do you know, Molly? I think you do make a difference. He seems much better after you've been. Even Minerva has commented on it."

"Has she really?" Molly wiped away a small welling of moisture that had been considering the possibility of forming into a teardrop in the corner of her eye and pulled herself up, her shoulders hunching slightly in a valiant effort to square themselves. "Well then, I think I could manage a couple of extra shifts next week. What the poor dear needs is a warm, loving environment, and I've plenty of time, what with all my little ones flown the nest."

"I'm sure he appreciates it. Even if he can't bring himself to say the words." Hermione patted Molly's ample arm and ushered her out the door before heading into the sitting room to check on the prisoner patient.

She found him standing before the fireplace, scowling at the doorway as she entered. "How much longer should I expect to suffer this torment?"

"Are you asking me to change the terms of your confinement?"

"I am merely inquiring as to the length of my sentence."

"That's a shame. Asking for change would indicate that you are taking an interest in your future. It would be seen as a positive sign."

There was a moment of silence as he struggled to form the words. "Very well, Miss Granger. May I ... please ... be left alone?"

"No."

"What more do you want from me, you foul harridan?" he snarled, advancing menacingly towards her. "You have accomplished what neither Riddle nor Dumbledore could: reducing me to groveling. Surely that should count for something. What will it take to satisfy your unnatural fascination with my person?"

"Severus, dear," she replied in her best Dolores Umbridge manner as he loomed over her, "you have only to demonstrate that you have accepted your ongoing existence and plan to make yourself a useful and productive member of society."

"And if I do, you will cease inflicting the Weasley matriarch upon me?"

Hermione smiled sweetly. "Oh, my. Do you not care for Molly? I had no idea."

It was as if the sheer force of his snort had propelled him backwards. He fell gracelessly into his customary chair. "You are no doubt aware that you are incapable of telling falsehoods without giving yourself away. Tell me, Miss Granger. Why do you bother?"

"Why do I bother telling falsehoods or why do I bother with you?"

"Both."

Taking off her cloak and hanging it in the front-closet, she replied, "I bother with you because I will not allow another innocent life to be lost to this war." She ignored his contemptuous harrumphing at her use of the word "innocent" and continued. "And I tell falsehoods because you have shown no interest in hearing the truth."

"You have my undivided attention," he said, his words belied by his posture as he leant his head back and closed his eyes. "Enlighten me," he added in bored tones.

Hermione settled delicately into the other chair. "I'm worried about you. We all are. You sneer and snarl and posture as if nothing had changed, but you show no interest in anything outside of this house. That's not like you. Tell me the truth. If we left you alone, would you buy yourself groceries? Fix meals? Or would you wallow in your own misery and slowly fade away?"

"What I choose to do with my life is my own business. I fail to see how it is any concern of yours."

"Decree 447 subsection 14-B makes it my business," she replied.

Decree 447 ensured the care of those injured, widowed or orphaned by the fight against Voldemort. Harry had insisted on it in return for his support for the new Minister for Magic. It was the only thing he wanted after the war was over, other than to be allowed to snog Ginny as often as humanly possible. Hermione had taught him how to heal his constantly chapped lips in return for the addition of section 14.

Often referred to as the Snotter clause, since it only applied to Harry and Severus, section 14 dealt with the special case of those who had given their lives without actually being dead, granting them special status and making their continued wellbeing an obligation of the Ministry. Subsection A (which the Minister for Magic had inserted without Harry's knowledge) granted them stipends, ensuring that neither would ever have to work if they did not choose. Subsection B stated that both the wand and the care of one Severus Snape was to be given over to a Ministry-appointed guardian until such time as said guardian verified his recovery from the traumatic damage to his psyche from his near-death experience. Shacklebolt had wasted no time in appointing Hermione as Severus' guardian.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus asked, "And what, pray tell, would free me from the terms of subsection 14-B?"

"Now that you ask, I would rather like to see you doing something useful with your time."

"I suppose you have something in mind?"

This time her smile was genuine. "As it happens, I do."

A/N: Thanks as always for the brilliant beta skills of Bambu345. The emblem for the badge was a gift from the lovely and clever Pokeystar.