Two

Author's Notes: This was written for the HG/SS holiday exchange on Live Journal. This was the prompt I chose: #71. Fic: Post-war Hermione and Severus are both doomed to spend Xmas alone until they run into each other in Diagon Alley or London. How, why, and what happens next is up to you. Happy ending, please. Any rating. This prompt was submitted by GinnyWeasley31 and the story is dedicated to her.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Special thanks to my beta reader, JuJuJenn. And thanks to Illyria who did some Brit-picking for me. Any errors, however, are mine alone.

Two

At precisely nine o'clock the next morning, Hermione heard a knock on her back door. She opened the door and greeted Snape.

He was wearing Muggle jeans again, she noted, but a dark indigo today, rather than black. His jumper was charcoal grey. He was also wearing the same black pea coat he had worn the day before.

"Good morning, sir," she said as she gestured him inside.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Snape replied as he stepped into the kitchen. "How did you sleep last night? You look well-rested."

"I slept quite well, actually," Hermione replied. "I wasn't tired when you left, so I signed on to my computer and put in a solid four hours of work. Then I read for an hour or so before I went to sleep. Reading for pleasure is something I haven't had a lot of time to do of late. It was a nice break. And your tea really did relax me. I don't remember any dreams I might have had, good or bad."

"I left a canister of the tea mixture in your cupboard. Let me know when you get low, and I'll blend you another batch," Snape said.

"Thank you, I appreciate that. I made coffee this morning, however," she added.

"Good, I enjoy my morning coffee. Now, if you'll move out of the way, I'll prepare breakfast." He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a hook near the door.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I thought you didn't enjoy cooking," Snape said as he moved toward the refrigerator.

"I don't; I'm merely trying to be polite," Hermione replied.

"In that case, you can set the table. I'll also put you in charge of making the toast when it's time for that chore. I trust you know how to operate the toaster?" he asked.

"I just might manage it."

In the end, she barely did manage it. She caught the toast about two seconds before they would have burned beyond redemption. As it was, the edges were too dark.

Hermione was a bit chagrined. Snape had prepared mushroom and cheese omelettes, sausages, and fried tomatoes – all perfectly cooked and finished at the same time – while she had struggled to provide four pieces of edible toast.

Snape made no comment about the toast. He merely buttered them liberally and slathered on some strawberry jam. Hermione followed his example.

When breakfast was done, Hermione did the washing up. Although she protested, Snape insisted on wiping the dishes as Hermione placed them in the rack.

"Really, Professor," Hermione protested, "I'll do the washing up. You cooked, after all."

"Do you expect me to just sit, watching you work?"

"Why not? I sat and watched you cook."

"Yes, but I enjoy cooking. No one enjoys the clean up afterward. That's why cleaning charms were developed," he said.

"I don't waste my magical energy on cleaning charms," Hermione said.

"I know, and if you'd waited three seconds, I'd have cast a cleaning charm before you filled the sink with water."

"I'll keep that in mind next time," she said.

"'Next time'?" Snape raised a sardonic brow at her. "What makes you think there will be a 'next time', Miss Granger?"

Hermione flushed. She was about to stammer out an apology when she caught the telltale twitch of Snape's lips.

"Are you having me on?" she asked.

"I am," Snape admitted. "I suspect that once I leave you to your own devices, breakfast will revert to being a cup of coffee and a promise to your stomach to fill it later."

"I guess I've just gotten out of the habit of eating in the morning," Hermione said.

"I think you've gotten out of the habit of eating entirely," Snape countered. "However, the new term doesn't start for nearly three weeks. Perhaps I can help you to establish some new and healthier eating habits by then."

"Are you going to come and make breakfast for me every morning?" she asked.

"Would you have any objections if I did?" Snape asked. "I wouldn't want to impose on you."

"You're willing to come here every day to cook for me, and you're worried about imposing on me?" Hermione asked. "I should be worried about imposing on you. I'm sure you have better things to do with your free time than to babysit me."

"I'm going to make you earn your breakfasts, Miss Granger," Snape assured her.

"Really? How?"

"We will spend the morning doing research in my library. I will then prepare lunch. After lunch, you will assist me while I brew a few of the potions Poppy needs to replenish her stores. Then I will prepare dinner. After dinner, I will bring you back here."

"It sounds wonderful ..." Hermione began.

"I'm detecting a 'but' about to be uttered," Snape said.

"I have to work, Professor Snape. I can't afford to take three weeks off. As soon as all the computers that people have received as Christmas presents are unwrapped, the calls for tech support will be very heavy. I get paid based on the number of calls I take.

"Besides ..." Again, Hermione let her voice trail off.

"Yes?"

"I can't maintain my glamour for that long. I don't usually use it when I'm home alone."

"I've changed my mind," Snape said. "We will be spending the morning at the Ministry of Magic. By noon, you will be on the list of persons receiving disability compensation from the Ministry."

"I won't take their charity," Hermione said.

"It isn't charity; it is legitimate compensation. You've earned it. Scrimgeour has been misleading you for years. He's been using you under the guise of 'helping' you. Without your contribution, Potter would never have been able to defeat the Dark Lord, and we'd all be living under the thumb of that madman."

"The Ministry gave me a medal in recognition of my services to the wizarding world," Hermione said.

The dishes were all washed. She opened the stopper on the sink to allow the dirty water to drain away.

"Had Scrimgeour been able to find a way to avoid doing that, without having the whole wizarding world rise up in protest, he would have," Snape said with a sneer. "You'll notice that I was not so 'honoured' by the Ministry."

Snape wiped the last pan and put the damp towel across the counter to dry.

"You can't buy groceries with an Order of Merlin," he continued. "Besides, how would you really rather spend your time: researching a cure for your injury or working?"

"Well, when you put it that way ..."

"As for maintaining your glamour," Snape said, "my home is completely warded against uninvited visitors. You could leave your glamour down while we're working there."

"I'm not sure I'd be comfortable doing that," Hermione said.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, your appearance, sans glamour, is not at all off-putting to me. Unfortunately, you are not the first victim of the Dark Lord and his followers that I have encountered. You should not feel embarrassed by your injury. You survived when so many did not. Your injury is a symbol of your courage in the face of the enemy."

Hermione considered his words before she spoke again.

"My great-grandfather survived Dachau," she began. "He was a university professor who spoke out against Hitler's Master Plan. The SS came in the middle of the night and took him away. After the camp was liberated, he went back to his post and resumed teaching. But, he continued to fight for what he believed in. He never again wore long-sleeved shirts, and he even made my great-grandmother shorten the sleeves of his jackets so that his tattoo was always visible. He said that the whole world needed to be reminded of what had happened so that it would never happen again.

"I don't think I'm brave enough to do anything like that," she concluded.

"Nor are you required to be. I completely understand your desire to maintain your glamour when you are out and about. People can be cruel, even when they don't mean to be. Pity is, in a way, the worst form of cruelty, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione said.

"So, shall we go visit Minister Scrimgeour?" Snape asked.

"How will you get in to see him? It seems his lackeys keep him very much insulated from those he has no wish to encounter."

"I have a secret or two that Scrimgeour would prefer remain such. I'm sure I can convince him to see us. As a matter of fact, I'm going to go on ahead and smooth the way. I'll be back in an hour to escort you there."

"All right," she agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly.

"Remove your glamour while I'm gone. Conserve your strength," he advised.

"I will," she promised.

Snape stepped back and Disapparated without a sound.

"Scrimgeour is looking forward to meeting with you, Miss Granger," Snape said when he returned.

"I'm sure," Hermione replied.

"He's going to leave the wards in his office down so that we can Apparate right in."

He reached out to put his arm across her shoulder and saw her flinch slightly.

"I know you find it distasteful to be in such close proximity to me, but it is necessary for Side-Along-Apparition."

Hermione flushed. "If that's the impression I gave you yesterday, and even just now, I'm sorry," she said. "My hesitation has nothing to do with you. I'm not used to being in such close proximity to anyone."

"My apologies, then, for misinterpreting your reaction," he said after a moment.

Hermione nodded and stepped into his arms.

Two hours later, Hermione and Snape were standing outside the Ministry. Hermione had a Ministry bank draft clutched tightly in her hand.

Not only had Scrimgeour authorised the monthly disability compensation, he had also insisted that the Ministry owed her retroactive payments going back to the end of the war. The failure of the Ministry to provide the compensation she 'so richly deserved' was a 'terrible oversight'; an oversight that he was 'proud and happy' to correct.

Snape had engaged every bit of self-control he possessed and had managed not to laugh outright at Scrimgeour's insincere posturing. Hermione had said nothing – not even thank you. She had taken the bank draft and walked out of Scrimgeour's office with her head held high.

"I want to go to Gringotts right away," Hermione said.

"Not a very trusting soul, are you?" Snape asked with a smirk.

"I want to cash this and make a deposit to my account before he changes his mind and puts a stop payment on the draft," she insisted.

"He wouldn't dare," Snape replied.

"I'm not taking any chances. This," she said, holding up the bank draft, "is enough for me to pay back my parents. They loaned me the money to make the down payment on my house."

"Is the monthly payment enough to meet your mortgage?" Snape enquired. He'd only guessed at the amount she might need when he'd 'suggested' an appropriate payment to Scrimgeour.

"Yes, and I'll even be able to afford groceries," she said with a small smile. "There won't be a lot left over, however. I'll probably keep my job to supplement this, though I'll work a lot fewer hours."

"But you will take the next three weeks off, won't you?" he asked.

"I'll need to work at least a couple of hours each day, if I want to keep my job. I'll work in the evenings, however, so that I can research with you in the mornings.

"I'm looking forward to delving into your library," she added.

They'd been walking as they talked and soon found themselves outside the Leaky Cauldron.

Snape pulled the door open and allowed Hermione to precede him into the pub.

"Afternoon, Professor Snape," said Tom from his post behind the bar. "Will you be wantin' a table for two?"

"Maybe next time, Tom," Snape replied. "We have business in Diagon Alley."

"Good day to you both, then, and Happy Christmas," Tom said and went back to polishing glasses.

"And to you, Tom," Snape replied. Hermione merely smiled and nodded. It was unlikely that Tom would recognise her voice after all these years, but she didn't want to take the risk.

When they passed through the pub and into the alley behind it, Snape drew his wand. He tapped the bricks in the prescribed pattern, and the bricks reformed themselves into an archway. He held his arm out to Hermione. She took it, and they walked through the archway and into the bustle of Diagon Alley itself.

As they walked past the Apothecary, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Flourish & Blotts, and the other shops that lined Diagon Alley, they received quite a bit of notice. Almost everyone recognised Severus Snape, of course. Besides being the Potions master at Hogwarts, he was recognised as the notorious Death Eater-turned-spy who'd helped the boy-who-lived to bring about the final and indisputable end of He Who Must Not Be Named. The fact that he had killed Albus Dumbledore – on Dumbledore's own orders – only added to his mystique. (If there were those who still questioned his loyalty, they had the good sense to do so privately.) The pretty young woman on his arm was a stranger to everyone, however, and she engendered a lot of curiosity.

Snape ignored the stares and the whispers and kept his attention on Hermione. He could feel her trembling.

Hermione kept her head down and leaned into Snape, letting him guide her footsteps.

"We're here," said Snape, leaning down over her bent head to speak softly into her ear.

Hermione looked up at the towering marble edifice and reached for the door. Snape nearly knocked her over when she stopped suddenly, and he ran into her back. He reached out a hand to steady her.

"What's the matter, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I ... I don't look anything like Hermione Granger," she whispered. "What if they won't cash this draft?"

"Do you have your vault key?"

"Yes."

"And your wand?"

"Of course."

"That's all you need. You don't think you're the first patron ever to have entered the bank while wearing a glamour, do you? The goblins don't care what, or who, you look like. They'll check that your wand signature matches the one they have on file, and as long as it does, you'll have no problem," he assured her.

The goblin sitting on his high stool behind the counter barely glanced at her as she made her request. The Ministry draft was cashed without question. Hermione had the majority of the Galleons exchanged into a cheque made out to her parents, and payable in British pounds. She kept a few Galleons and a few pounds, which she slipped into the pocket of her jeans. The rest of the Galleons were deposited into her vault. The cart ride down into the bowels of the bank was just as frightening as she'd remembered, but the thought that her small nest egg had been augmented helped to alleviate some of her unease.

An hour after they'd entered Gringotts, they were once again standing outside.

"Are you hungry?" Snape asked.

"I am, actually," Hermione replied.

"A novel experience for you these days, I'm sure," Snape said.

"Is the invitation to lunch still open?" Hermione asked.

"It is, indeed," Snape replied. "We can Apparate from behind the Leaky Cauldron."

They walked as quickly as they could through the crowds of people and made their way back to the archway that led to the Leaky Cauldron. Once again, Snape used his wand to open the gateway, and they stepped through. Once they were through, Snape tucked his wand back into his sleeve.

"Ready?" he asked as he placed his arms across Hermione's shoulders.

"Yes," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist and closing her eyes.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of a small, rather dark parlour. The furnishings were old and slightly shabby.

She stepped away from Snape as he dropped his hand from her shoulders.

Snape pointed his wand at the ceiling and muttered, "Lumos," under his breath. A large overhead chandelier brightened and cast light over the centre of the room. Several wall sconces also lit, chasing the shadows out of the corners.

"You've charmed the electric lights to respond to a Lumos Charm."

"I must admit that electricity is one of the few things I missed when I chose to live among wizards rather than Muggles. I still use Lumos the magical way, as well," he said and aimed his wand at the small fireplace. Flames leapt to life in the small grate.

"Oh my," Hermione said, as she turned in a circle. Bookcases lined every available foot of wall space. She took a step towards the nearest one, but Snape's voice stopped her.

"Lunch first, Miss Granger," he said as he moved toward a room behind the parlour.

Hermione made a small moue of disappointment, but dutifully followed him.

When she entered the kitchen, her mouth dropped open.

In contrast to the old-fashioned styling and genteel shabbiness of the parlour, this room was a marvel of modern kitchen design. A large stainless steel refrigerator and a six-burner stainless steel stove dominated the room. The cabinetry was a light oak and looked new. There was a microwave oven, a four-slice toaster, and a coffee maker on the smallest stretch of counter. On the other side of the large stainless steel sink, a longer stretch of counter held a canister set and a large butcher block cutting board. A kitchen island served as the table. Two high-backed swivel stools were tucked under one side of the island.

"I've been renovating," Snape said. "The house was virtually unchanged since I was a child. I spent very little time here when I began teaching at Hogwarts. Once the war was over, and I realised that I had actually survived, I decided some changes were in order."

While he'd been talking, Snape had been opening and closing the refrigerator and the cupboards, taking out containers of food and dishes.

"Well, the kitchen certainly reflects the fact that you enjoy cooking."

"The kitchen was the first room I renovated. The house isn't very large – it's just a two-up, two-down, but it suits my needs. The upstairs has been done over as well, including modernising the loo. The parlour is the only room left, and its refurbishing will be a formidable task because of all the books."

"Why don't you use a Shrinking Charm on the books and put them all in a couple of boxes?" Hermione asked.

Snape threw her a baleful look. "Some of my books are hundreds of years old. They are in delicate condition. I would never subject them to the stresses of first a Shrinking Charm and then an Engorgement Charm to restore them."

"I didn't realise that the process could harm things. It seems a rather common practice," Hermione remarked.

"It is a common practice. For the most part, it causes no damage to the items being shrunk. But, as I said, some of my books are very old. The pages are brittle, the inks are fading, and the bindings are cracking. I need to have some of them restored or copied before the contents become too faded to read. Filius Flitwick is working with me to develop some charms that will preserve the most fragile of them, but it's very difficult magic."

As he spoke, he opened another drawer, pulling out a couple of placemats and napkins. He handed these to Hermione, and she began setting the table.

"If anyone can do it, Professor Flitwick can," Hermione offered.

"I agree," Snape said. "Filius is probably the most talented wizard alive when it comes to charms. Nearly a tenth of the charms in common usage these days were developed by him."

"I didn't know that," Hermione said.

"He keeps a low profile, both literally and figuratively," Snape explained. "He has some goblin blood, back a few generations. The Ministry has always been intolerant of wizards with non-human blood in their family tree."

"That's a ridiculous attitude," Hermione said, upset on behalf of her former Charms professor.

"You're right, but it's hardly a surprising one. Filius has found a home, and a refuge, at Hogwarts. He does nothing that will bring him unwanted attention. He quietly develops his charms and introduces them to the wizarding world through discreet intermediaries."

"It seems rather unfair," Hermione said.

"It's completely unfair," Snape agreed, "but the pure-blood families have always had far too much influence over the Ministry and its policies. The prejudices and 'laws' against those that fail to meet their false standards are a direct result of that influence."

"One would think that after the war, wizard folk would be more tolerant. It was Voldemort's prejudices that led directly to the war, after all," Hermione remarked.

"It was the Dark Lord's unbridled lust for power that led to the war. His prejudices simply appealed to the pure-bloods who chose to follow him."

"Is that why you kept your half-blood status a secret?" Hermione asked. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, sir. That's none of my business."

"No, it isn't, but I'll tell you anyway. I didn't intentionally keep my parentage a secret, at least not at first. When I was sorted into Slytherin, it was assumed I was a pure-blood. There hadn't been a non-pure-blood sorted into Slytherin for years, possibly since the Dark Lord himself. I did nothing to correct that assumption. That was merely the first of the many mistakes I've made in my life," he replied with a touch of bitterness.

Although he'd been more forthcoming than she'd thought he would be, she decided not to pursue the subject.

As they talked, Snape worked at the stove. Soon the tantalising aroma of some sort of stew filled the air.

"It smells wonderful," Hermione said. "What is it?"

"After your comment about a tin of soup and a cheese sandwich being haute cuisine, I decided I'd demonstrate that soup and a cheese sandwich actually can be a meal worthy of note. We're having a lamb stew, which is really just a thick soup. The cheese is called Caboc. It's made from cow's milk, but without rennet. It has a very smooth texture and a slightly nutty flavour. Instead of bread, we'll be eating the cheese spread on oatcakes, which is the traditional way it is eaten in the Scottish highlands."

Hermione smiled as Snape talked about the seasonings he had used in the stew and further expounded on the importance of using fresh herbs rather than the dried ones offered in most markets. It seemed he put as much effort and passion into cooking as he did into Potions making.

The meal was just as delicious as Snape said it would be. Hermione sat back with a satisfied sigh after finishing the portion of stew that he had ladled into her bowl. The cheese was different from any she'd ever eaten, and the oatcakes were a new experience, as well.

"Tea?" Snape asked when she was done eating.

"Another special blend?" she asked.

"Earl Grey," Snape replied. "Not very special at all, I'm afraid, but it will go well with the sponge cake we're having for pudding."

Hermione groaned. "I've no room for pudding. I barely finished the stew."

"We'll wait a little while before we indulge," Snape said. "We can begin our research, if you'd like."

Hermione could feel the familiar tension teasing at the edge of her glamour. Her energy level was already starting to fall, in spite of the large meal she'd just consumed.

"I'm afraid that the stress of dealing with Scrimgeour and the goblins at Gringotts is beginning to take its toll on me. Not to mention the terrifying journey on that cart."

"It is quite an experience," Snape agreed.

"Do you think they do it that way to deliberately intimidate us?"

"Of course."

"At any rate, I'm feeling the stress."

"You could drop your glamour. You could get in a few hours of research if you weren't expending so much energy to maintain it," Snape said.

Hermione flushed and bit her bottom lip. "I ... I just don't feel comfortable doing that."

"I understand. I hope that in time, you'll feel comfortable enough around me to do so."

Hermione shrugged but made no comment.

"I'll take you home," he said.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she said.

"You've no need to apologise, Miss Granger. In spite of the fact that I was your teacher for many years, we're still virtual strangers to each other. It will take some time for us to develop a rapport."

Snape dropped his arm across her shoulder, and Hermione lifted her arms to wrap around his waist. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they were standing inside her kitchen. Hermione stepped away from him as soon as she steadied herself.

"May I call you later to see how you're doing?" Snape asked.

"I'm not on the Floo Network," Hermione said.

"I have a telephone, Miss Granger," Snape said with a small smile. "I actually know how to use it, and it's not nearly as messy as the Floo."

"You're just full of surprises," she said.

She found a scrap of paper and a pen in a drawer and wrote down her number. Snape took the pen from her hand, scribbled his own number on the bottom of the paper, tore it off, and handed the paper back to her.

"Call me if you need anything," he said as he put the paper with her number in his pocket.

"I will," Hermione said.

"I'll call you after dinner," Snape said.

"Thank you for lunch – and for your help with the Ministry. I doubt I'd have been successful without your influence."

"You're welcome," he replied. "Though, I should be thanking you. I do so enjoy the opportunity to make Rufus Scrimgeour squirm."

Hermione smiled at that remark.

"Good day, Miss Granger," he said as he stepped back.

"Good day, Professor Snape," she replied.

A moment later, she was alone.

Hermione drew a deep breath and let her glamour drop. It was a relief to be able to relax and let her magical energy begin to rebuild. She sometimes wondered how long she'd be able to continue without depleting her magic completely. Perhaps the research with Professor Snape would turn up something. If it didn't, she would be forced to exile herself even more from both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. She'd be a modern day Elephant Man – forced to hide behind a veil or a mask whenever she went out. It was not something she looked forward to doing.

She signed on to her computer and began taking calls. She worked for a couple of hours and then took a break to use the loo and brew another pot of the tea Snape had left her. It really was soothing to her nerves. She hadn't realised how jumpy all that coffee had made her.

As she went into the kitchen, she had a sudden craving for the sponge cake she'd refused earlier.

Hermione looked at the counter where the paper with Snape's telephone number lay.

Before she could think about it, she snatched up the phone and dialled the number.

The phone rang three times. She was just about to hang up when it was answered.

"Yes?" Snape's voice sounded different over the phone, but she had to smile at his terse greeting.

"Professor? It's me, Hermione Granger," she said.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Now that she was actually talking to him, she realised how foolish it had been of her to succumb to her childish impulse.

"What can I do for you, Miss Granger," he asked.

"It's silly, really," she stammered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I'll hang up now."

"You don't strike me as the type to make harassing phone calls," Snape said.

"I'm not!"

"Then you must have had a reason for your call, even if it was a 'silly' one. What is it?"

Hermione tried desperately to think of a plausible lie, but couldn't come up with one. Finally, she just blurted out the truth.

"Cake," she said.

"Cake?" he repeated.

"Specifically, sponge cake," Hermione said. She knew she was blushing, and she was glad that Snape was on the other end of the phone rather than right in front of her.

Snape chuckled. "Put the tea on, Miss Granger. I've a few small details to tend to here, but I'll be there in ten minutes – with cake."

Before Hermione could reply, he rang off.

When Snape knocked at her back door ten minutes later, Hermione had the tea things ready. The kettle on the stove was just coming to a boil.

She had also made sure her glamour was firmly in place.

They sat at her kitchen table, sipping tea and nibbling the cake, which was delicious.

"Did you bake the cake?" she asked as she helped herself to a second piece.

"I'd like to claim responsibility for it, but baking is not my forte," Snape replied. "There's a very good bakery not far from my home. It's been run by the same family since I was a boy. I'll have to introduce you to their éclairs. Amazing."

"I never would have guessed that you have a sweet tooth, Professor," Hermione said.

"I usually don't, but when I do get a craving for a pastry of some kind, I want the best."

He paused and drew a deep breath before he spoke again.

"I used to bring éclairs back to Albus whenever I went to London."

Hermione had been one of the very few people who had been privy to the memories that Professor Dumbledore had left behind. Professor McGonagall had shown them to Harry, Ron, and her a few days after his funeral. It had been difficult for them to understand and accept that Dumbledore had orchestrated his own death. Harry had been especially hard to persuade; it had taken some additional information provided by Remus Lupin to finally convince him that Snape wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. Hermione had long been intrigued by the paradox that was Severus Snape. Although outwardly he'd been contemptuous of Harry – and she and Ron, as well, simply by dint of their association with him – Snape's actions were often in direct contrast to his words. Once she had seen Dumbledore's memories and heard Professor McGonagall's explanation, she had been willing to accept that Snape had been working to their benefit the entire time she had known him.

"It must have been very difficult for you to do what you did," Hermione said. In spite of the fact that the three of them had worked with Snape, using Remus as an intermediary much of the time, they'd never actually discussed that night.

Snape scowled at her, and Hermione thought he would refuse to comment. Then she saw him take another deep breath, as though fortifying himself.

"It was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life," he said at last.

"Professor Dumbledore always told us that he trusted you with his life," Hermione said.

"I can only regret that he had to trust me with his death, as well," he replied.

"He wanted his death to serve a purpose ..." Hermione began.

"Stop!" Snape shouted as he jumped to his feet. He leaned over Hermione, bringing his face close to hers.

"I know all the reasons. I know all about the 'higher purpose' his death served," Snape whispered harshly. "I even know, intellectually, that he would have been dead within minutes anyway.

"None of that matters. I killed my best friend, my mentor, the man who treated me like a son. I killed him." Snape sat back down heavily.

"That is the reality I live with each day, Miss Granger." He dropped his head into his hands, but not before Hermione saw the raw emotions etched onto his face and the pain in his eyes.

She didn't stop to think, she simply reacted. She reached out and placed her hand on the top of his head, curling her fingers into his hair.

"How can I help you?" she asked. She could feel him trembling under her hand.

Snape lifted his head and looked into her eyes. He drew her hand from his head and held it between his own for a moment before he released it. Then he stood again and walked to the sink, turning his back to her.

"I don't need your help, Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione got up and walked over to where Snape stood. She reached out and touched his shoulder, somewhat tentatively.

"Sometimes it helps to talk about things ..."

"Don't try to psychoanalyse me," Snape said, shrugging off her hand and turning to glare at her. "Even if I felt the need to 'bare my soul', why would I bare it to you? You can't even bare your face to me, never mind your soul."

Hermione stood resolute under his withering glare. She could sense the hurt coming off him in almost palpable waves.

He'd already done so much for her. He'd done so much for the entire wizarding world. All she wanted to do was help ease his burden in some small measure. To do that, she knew she would have to prove to him that she trusted him.

"I've already bared my soul to you," she said. "You already know more about what happened to me than anyone else in the world. You know that I wanted to die. You know that I've isolated myself from my friends and even my parents.

"You've done more for me in two days than the entire wizarding world has done in five years. Yet, you won't accept my help because I won't show you my face?" She was nearly shouting by now.

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage, and then she let her glamour fade. She felt the skin across her scalp tighten. She felt the corner of her eye pull down slightly. She felt her lip droop a under the weight of the lumpy flesh.

She opened her eyes and glared at Snape.

"Well, here's my face, Professor Snape," she said, her words almost imperceptibly distorted by her ruined lip. "Now what's your excuse?"

Snape listened as Hermione shouted at him. He watched as her glamour dropped and she thrust her damaged face toward him defiantly.

For as far back as he could remember, he'd hidden behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. He pushed everyone away, afraid to let anyone get too close. He'd never wanted to admit to any weakness, any vulnerability.

Only one person had ever been able to break through.

Until now.

The other one had been a Gryffindor, too.

"I miss him, Miss Granger," Snape said at last.

He gestured to the chair she had vacated, and she sat back down. He noticed that she kept her head turned slightly, as though trying to shield the damaged portion of her face from his gaze.

He sat and picked up his cup. The tea had gone cold, but he didn't care. He drank it anyway, hoping to swallow the lump in his throat along with the tea.

"He is the only person who ever gave me unconditional love and acceptance."

"What about your parents?"

He paused for a moment, as though debating with himself how much to reveal to her. Then he drew a deep breath and began to speak.

"It's a terrible thing for a child to know that he was a mistake."

"Oh, no ..."

"Oh, yes. Every argument between them ended the same way.

"My mother, you see, was to have been married to a man of her father's choosing. She barely knew the man, but he was wealthy and well-placed in wizarding society. The Princes, although pure-blood, were only comfortable, not wealthy. She thought to have a last 'fling' before she settled down to respectability. Why she chose to have a dalliance with a Muggle is a mystery. When she discovered she was pregnant, she told my grandmother. She, of course, told my grandfather. The arranged marriage was called off. A dose of Veritaserum in her morning tea was all it took to find out the name of the man responsible for her condition.

"My grandfather himself broke her wand, thus condemning her to live out her life as a Muggle. You can guess the rest of it. My father blamed my mother for trapping him into marriage and fatherhood. My mother blamed me for the loss of her easy life as the wife of a wealthy wizard and for the loss of her magic."

"Did neither of them ever think to take responsibility for their own actions?" Hermione asked.

"It was much easier to blame me."

"What happened to them?" Hermione asked.

"My father died in an industrial accident a few months before I started at Hogwarts. My mother reconciled with her father soon afterward, and another marriage was arranged. I was sent off to Hogwarts and forgotten."

"Do you see her very often?"

"As I said, I was sent off to Hogwarts and forgotten. I haven't seen my mother since I was eleven years old. She and her husband live in Germany, I believe."

"That's awful!"

"I was an embarrassment to her and to her parents. My grandfather paid my tuition and put a small sum into a discretionary account for me each year. When I turned seventeen, the money stopped. My last year at school was funded by a scholarship – or so Albus told me. I think he paid the tuition from his own pocket, but he'd never admit that to me. When I turned eighteen, I inherited my house. It had belonged to my father's parents, and he'd inherited it from them. My mother could have sold it but, in some final spark of maternal concern, she let it pass to me.

"I'm sure you know the rest of my story," Snape said. "My affinity for the Dark Arts led to my friendship with Lucius Malfoy. That friendship led to my taking the Dark Mark shortly after my eighteenth birthday."

"When did you start working for the Order of the Phoenix?" Hermione wanted to know.

"At about the same time I started teaching. I was already disillusioned with the Dark Lord, by then. Dumbledore and I worked out a plan to eliminate Voldemort on Halloween. It would have worked if Peter Pettigrew had not betrayed James and Lily Potter. Instead, James and Lily died, Harry became the boy-who-lived, and I was accused of plotting their deaths."

"That's when Professor Dumbledore testified before the Wizengamot, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

Snape nodded. "He vouched for me, and no charges were brought against me."

"He believed in you," she said.

"Yes, he did, and that belief never wavered. I would have done anything for him. I would gladly have died in his stead."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have considered that."

"You're right. And neither would he consider allowing Draco to kill him; nor Potter to blame himself for forcing him to drink the potion protecting the fake Horcrux."

"So, he left it up to you."

"Yes."

"How ... how did you ... I mean, Alastor Moody – well the person we thought was Alastor Moody – told us that in order to cast the Unforgivables, one had to ... to have the proper intent."

Snape got up again and began pacing back and forth in the small space between the table and the sink. He opened his mouth as though he were about to speak and then closed it again with an audible snap of his teeth.

"I'm ... I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said after watching him pace for a few minutes. "It's none of my business."

Snape glared at her, and then he came and stood over her.

"You're the one who wanted me to talk about it, Miss Granger," he shouted. "Now, you'll hear it whether you bloody well like it or not!

"How could I cast the Killing Curse? I'll tell you how. I could cast it because I hated him! He'd made me promise to do it. I was hesitating. He ... he entered my mind and reminded me of my promise. And in that moment, I hated him enough to be able to do it, just as he'd known I would!"

Snape's voice cracked on the last word, and for one horrible moment, he was afraid he would break down and cry in front of her. It was only with the greatest effort that he didn't.

Through his own distress, he could see that she was crying. Tears slid down the soft smoothness of her unblemished left cheek and twisted and turned through the puffy grooves of her damaged right cheek.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he muttered. He pulled a couple of paper towels off the dispenser over the sink and handed them to her.

"I ... I ..." she stammered as she wiped her eyes and her face.

"If you're about to say you're sorry, please don't," Snape said, rather more sharply than he'd intended. "I don't want your pity."

"Pity is a wasted emotion," Hermione said. "I was about to say that I understood. I almost hate him myself for what he forced you to do."

"We were all forced to do unconscionable things, Miss Granger. Such is the nature of war.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Do you have anything?"

"There's a bottle of Scotch in one of the cupboards. My dad gave it to me as a housewarming present. He said it was always good to have something on hand to offer unexpected company. There's a bottle of brandy, as well. Mum thought that was more civilised than Scotch."

"Your father is a wise man," Snape said as he rooted around in the cupboard over the sink, finally emerging with a couple of dusty bottles. He put the Scotch on the counter and returned the bottle of brandy to the cupboard. "We'll save the brandy for when we feel the need to be civilised. Right now, I need something stronger." He got out two glasses from another cupboard and poured a measure of the Scotch into each one.

He handed one of the glasses to Hermione and tipped back the contents of the other glass in one long swallow.

He almost shuddered as the Scotch burned a trail of fire down his throat and into his belly.

He refilled his glass and sat down.

"Your father has excellent taste in whisky," he said as he took a small sip.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said so, next time I see him," Hermione said as she sipped at her own glass.

"Will you see them on Christmas?" Snape asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No. They're in France, skiing. They go every year and have since before I was born. They shut down their practice from the week before Christmas until after the New Year. They used to joke that they were going to name me Noelle. I never got it until I was much older."

Snape smiled.

"I used to go with them when I was a child. Once I started at Hogwarts, I think I only made it home for Christmas once or twice. They've invited me to join them every year, but ... well ..."

"Why did you never tell them?" Snape asked. "Surely you don't fear their rejection? They appear to be most doting parents."

"They are. They're wonderful. They've encouraged and supported me throughout my life. I don't worry that they'd reject me, but rather that they'd go too far the other way and smother me."

"You will be alone for Christmas, then?" Snape asked.

"I'm used to it," Hermione replied.

"I shall be alone, as well," Snape said.

"Won't there be a feast at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, of course, but I only used to attend because Albus suggested it. Minerva isn't nearly as insistent."

They sat for a few minutes, sipping their drinks and not saying much.

Finally, when Snape had emptied his glass for the second time, he spoke.

"Perhaps you would care to dine with me at my home on Christmas?" Snape asked.

Hermione was a bit surprised by his invitation. Although he'd been more than kind to her over the last couple of days, she hadn't expected this. Suddenly, the prospect of another Christmas alone held no appeal for her.

"I'd like that. Thank you, sir," Hermione replied.

"I can prepare a traditional meal such as goose or turkey. However, if you're feeling a bit more adventurous ..."

"Oh, yes!" Hermione interrupted. "I'd love to try something new and different."

"'New and different' it shall be, then," Snape replied.

They were silent for a few more minutes.

Hermione kept the undamaged side of her face toward Snape.

"I realise that you are self-conscious about your injury, Miss Granger," Snape said a moment later, "but there really is no need to try to hide your face from me."

Hermione looked at him and said, "Do you know what bothers me more than my face? My hair. I know it's really silly – most people didn't think my hair was my best feature, anyway." She held a hand to the burnt-looking frizz on the right side of her scalp.

"I understand completely," he said with a small, ironic smile. "I've been hiding behind my hair since I was a child."

As though to prove it, he bent his head slightly, and his hair swung forward, like a pair of black curtains, to cover most of his face.

"Why don't you use a minor glamour – just on your hair?" he asked as he lifted his head again. "It would use a considerably smaller amount of your magical energy."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Hermione asked.

She closed her eyes in concentration. A moment later, the burnt looking frizz on the right side of her scalp had been replaced with a fall of brown hair that matched the bushy hair on the left side of her head.

"How does it look?" Hermione asked as she lifted a hand to touch the springy locks.

Snape stood and circled the chair on which Hermione sat.

"From the back, none of the damage is visible at all. From the side, only a small amount is visible. From straight on, of course, the drooping of your eye and your lip is the most obvious sign of your injury, but your hair covers a lot of the redness and the damaged folds of skin," he said.

"Thank you for not sugar-coating it," she said.

"That is the last thing anyone would ever accuse me of doing," he replied.

"That's probably true," she agreed.

"Can you feel the difference in your magic?" he asked.

"I can feel the glamour affecting it, but not very much. I should be able to maintain this glamour for far longer than I could the other without it tiring me out too much."

Before either of them could say anything else, Hermione's telephone rang.

"That's probably my mum," Hermione said. "She usually calls around this time."

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Snape said as he stood up.

Hermione nodded and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Mum," she said as Snape stepped back and disappeared.