Chapter 3

Neither of them knew how long they stood, just holding on to each other. Hermione cried for both of them, for the losses they both had suffered. She was just as crippled emotionally as he was physically. Ron was gone, her parents unattainable with the special enchantments that had been placed on them to hide them from Voldemort's people, and she felt abandoned by Harry and Ginny.

Snape held on to' the crying girl, feeling emotion for the first time in two years. A stranger to kindness, he found he was touched by her trust in him. The emotion was foreign to him.

They finally stepped apart, as if a signal had been given and stood, gaping at each other in silence.

Snape broke the silence. “You are no longer quite so insufferable.”

Smirking, she answered back with, “I like this you better.”

Snape's eyes widened and he turned away.

“There is nothing to like about me.”

“You could have left me lying in that corridor amongst the rats.”

“True,” he said, turning to face her.

“When I saw who you were, I was curious as to what would bring you back to this graveyard. I figured you married Weasley and were already carrying one of those red-haired ankle-biters.”

The ‘ankle-biter’ comment made Hermione want to laugh, but thinking about Ron sobered her quickly.

“Ron’s dead. He died during the fall of Voldemort.”

She was astonished to see a sad surprise flash across his face.

“I did not know.”

She glanced down, and not seeing the pouch around her neck, she looked around frantically until she spotted the pouch on his nightstand. She went to get it and opened it, pulling out the photo album.

She offered it to him, and he flipped through the pages filled with pictures of her parents and friends.

“It’s all I have.”

“Your parents died too?” He asked.

“No, they were enchanted to forget who I am and who they really are. I gave them a new life and new identities to keep them safe from Voldemort.”

“Can’t you go retrieve them?”

He handed her back the album. She placed it back into the pouch and slung it back around her neck.

“No. There were conditions and Ron’s gone. They can’t be fulfilled.”

“I see,” he whispered.

Wanting to take the attention off her, Hermione asked, “Why stay here? St. Mungo’s could help. Healers can regenerate some of your flesh and reduce the scar. Maybe even restore the use of your limbs.”

“I doubt anyone wants to see the Death Eater who murdered Dumbledore, much less help him.”

“You’re wrong, sir. We all know what you sacrificed, how much your life you gave to the Order and what Dumbledore asked of you.”

Snape looked surprised. “How?”

“Harry shared the memories you gave him. He took the Pensieve to the Ministry. The judges in the court reviewed them. Dumbledore's portrait vouched for their authenticity. You have been exonerated, Professor. You’re a free man and a hero—you can go anywhere you want.”

He sat heavily into the chair by the fire. “I can’t return like this. I can’t even help myself. I know potions that would help with this hand. But without the use of my hand, I can’t make them. I can barely brew the simplest potions.”

Hearing the pain and frustration in his voice, Hermione came and knelt before him, touching his hands that were folded together in his lap.

“Let me help. Let me be your hands. I can learn.” She saw a flash of hope in his eyes.

“You would do that?”

“Yes, Professor. It would be my pleasure.” She felt excitement at the possibility of learning from a Potions master… but it paled to the excitement of having a purpose again. She craved having a purpose again as much as he needed to be healed of his injuries.

Hermione felt him squeeze her fingers and saw his eyes moisten with tears. He was so different, so human, so broken. She reached up and slid her hand over his cheek.

“You are not alone anymore.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded gratefully.

To give him time to collect himself, she excused herself to go use the bathroom. When she returned, she found him stirring a thick stew.

“That smells wonderful,” she said, and her stomach rumbled as if on cue. She blushed and ran her hand over her stomach.

“Come sit at the table. Eat,” he rasped.

Hermione thought as she sat how sad it was that his voice was so damaged. There was little hint of the deep, silky, sexy voice she’d grown accustomed to in class.

“Professor, will I need to procure some of the ingredients we will need?”

“Miss Granger, I am no longer your professor.”

“Do you want me to call you Mr. Snape?” she asked.

The odd rattle escaped him, and Hermione glanced at him and realized he was laughing. Or at least he was trying to.

“No, call me Severus.”

“Severus,” she repeated after him. She smiled.

"I am no longer a student and I am of age. You should call me Hermione.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted him, saying, “Fair’s fair.”