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“Mum! Dad!” Hermione Granger moved toward the fireplace, where her parents greeted her with smiles and hugs that were all too brief. “Before you ask, I am fine. I know you probably didn’t believe the letter, but I promise, Mum, I’m okay.” She sighed softly. “I’m just in a bit of a situation.” She raised a hand to cut off any questions that she knew were forming in her father’s mind. “It has nothing to do with me—well, it does, but it’s not…” She shook her head dejectedly as her voice trailed away. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m not in any trouble, but the situation is hard to explain.”

She ushered them into her private den, where a pot of tea and China cups waited. “Have you eaten?” When both her parents shook their heads, she waved a tray of sandwiches into existence, along with a few plates. “Please, sit. Eat.”

As she poured the fragrant rose congo into their cups, she watched them taking in their surroundings and smiled to herself. Her parents were probably surprised at her choice of décor.

When she was younger, she preferred a warmer country style, but as she grew up, her tastes evolved to the contemporary. She had covered the stone floors in her private quarters with stark white carpet, but left the stone walls and ceiling. She had hung many pieces of art ranging from abstract to impressionist, from orphistic to Baroque; and above her large fireplace were two miniature Bernini sculptures: The Ecstasy of St. Teresa was on the right, while The Rape of Proserpina sat on the left. In between was a large mirror that had been charmed with picture behind the glass, so as one gazed in to the mirror, they saw their own image blend with the infamous Lilith painting—the snake curled around the woman in an erotic display.

The painting of Lilith, she had always loved, but she had never seen the two sculptures until she went searching for them, after reading about them in Angels and Demons, by the famous Muggle author, Dan Brown. She had fallen in love with the images and immediately purchases small-scale versions for her home and had carried them with her to Hogwarts.

Placing the tea pot back on the small table, she dropped down into the leather loveseat, allowing her parents more room on the couch. “The reason I asked you here is because I am having a problem that concerns Professor Snape.” She could tell by her mother’s wide eyes that she remembered the dread Potions master.

“I thought you said that Lord Voldemort murdered him,” her father said crisply.

Hermione nodded. “He did. The thing is… Well, Professor Snape had no living relatives when he died and the only people he was close to are so rich that they need and want nothing. He had an impressive library from what I am told and those—” she waved to the stack of books still lining the wall— “barely scratch the surface of it. The rest are at his estate, which he also left to me.”

“He left you his estate?” her father questioned, shocked.

“He left me almost everything; only a few certain items went to the Malfoys—items, which I assume, were related to his past as a Death Eater.” She picked up her own cup and took a sip, before continuing. “The Malfoys told me that he left me everything, because I was the only person that he knew that would truly appreciate it. And I have to admit that I can’t wait to see his library, but it just feels odd inheriting nearly everything he owned.”

She pushed a long, spiraling curl away from her face and gazed pleadingly at her parents. “I do not have to accept everything, but… I do. I mean, it’s not like it can go to anyone else; magic wills are iron clad. If I do not redeem his assets, they will just sit there. I made an appointment to go to Gringotts today to transfer everything, but it just feels so awkward.” She paused and nibbled on her lower lip. “I was hoping you would go with me?”

Her parents had gone with her to offer moral support, which Hermione had needed desperately. It was not that Snape had anything that shocked her, but this final act was almost too much for her.

She had gained ownership of his property, the mansion and everything in it, including his library, his equipment and a few house-elves. She still did not like the idea, but had come to accept that these creatures had strange, twisted ideas. It nearly killed them to think about freedom, but since they did not want to be free, she could at least give them comfort and care.

And as watery blue eyes gazed up at her, she had to repress all thoughts about SPEW. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. I work at Hogwarts. Professor Snape left—”

The house-elf nodded furiously. “Yes, Mistress Granger. Marigold was informed by Master Snape that you would be coming one day. Marigold attended the house until Mistress Granger came.”

It occurred to Hermione that Marigold spoke very well and assumed that the more prestigious wizarding households would want to educate their servants. “Thank you, Marigold,” she said with a soft smile, “but could you please refer to as something other than Mistress Granger?” It reminds me of some expensive prostitute. “And not Miss Granger, either.” It reminds me of Severus. “In fact, Miss Hermione would work nicely.”

Glancing around the lavish foyer, she once again felt awkward. Brushing it off, knowing this was now her home, she turned back to the house-elf. “Marigold, I have had a rather long day today. Could you show my room? I would like to take a bath and change.”

“Marigold can run your bath water,” the elf supplied happily.

“No.” When blue eyes started watering violently, she offered up a distraction. “But I would enjoy some tea and a good book for while I soak.” This seemed to please Marigold, much to the witch’s relief; she really did not feel like dealing with a distraught creature banging her head into the wall, not today.

When the house-elf stopped and opened a door, Hermione stared in shock. She glanced down at Marigold then back into the room, before taking a tentative step forward.

While her taste had indeed evolved to contemporary, a style that held no lavishness to it, this was enough to almost take her breath away. And it was nothing like she imagined Snape living in; she saw him living in a severe, minimalist-styled room—this room, while decorated in Slytherin’s primary color, was exquisitely beautiful.

The black carpet looked thick and soft, and the walls were a deep green with gold and cream swirling brush strokes. The enormous bed was covered in a thick green comforter of velvet with gold patterns weaved in. The mahogany footboard and headboard were amazingly intricate, and four posts, with carved serpents twined around them, held up a velvet canopy, while sheer green silk trailed down back down the posts.

“Was this…” She had to stop, nearly choking on the words; after a deep breath, she tried again. “Was this Professor Snape’s room?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Hermione turned away from the house-elf, a single tear sliding down her cheek as her eyes darted around the room, taking in the fireplace and the elegant chaise, the marble-top table and the crystal lamp. This was his home, she mentally whispered.

In her mind, she could hear Snape’s voice reply, It is your home now, Miss Granger.