Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I'm using some of JKR's characters for a spot of fun. I'll send them back later.

Thanks go to amsev for beta reading this for me.

Hermione woke early the next morning, intent on going about her business and ignoring Snape for as long as she could. She wasn't going to lose any more sleep over him or his childish antics! Crookshanks mewed lightly and rubbed against her legs when she placed them over the side of her bed.

"Hungry, boy?" He mewed again and looked towards her door. "Come on then."

Tail up, he followed her out into the next room where she stopped suddenly. Snape was already up and in her kitchen...if the clanking of dishes was anything to go by. When Crooks meowed, she shook away her surprise, steeled herself, and moved forward. Trying not to think of her disheveled hair or her rumpled nightshirt, she grabbed the box of cat food and shook out a portion into his bowl.

"Eat up."

When she turned around, Snape handed her a steaming cup of coffee.

"What's this?" she asked in surprise.

"A peace offering."

She gazed at him steadily, expecting a catch, but when he said nothing further, she took the cup and sat down at the table. "I should toss this back at you." After taking a sip, she added, "Or tell you how absolutely vile it tastes."

"You could indeed," he said smoothly with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"Are you sorry?"

"For?"

"For being a complete git last night," she retorted, putting her cup down. "We won't get on if that keeps up. I'm just trying to coexist and am not asking for much."

Snape took another drink from his cup and then set it aside. "Tell me about Ginevra Weasley. What are her symptoms?"

"Oh... er... she's not regained consciousness at all. In fact, she just lies there...sometimes gazing at the ceiling, sometimes with her eyes closed."

"So, she's not responding to anything at all then?"

"No."

"How's her skin?"

"It's very pale."

"No, that's not what I mean. Is it dry?"

"Actually, it's not. She still feels normal." She frowned. "But, you know, Mrs. Weasley is always in there with her...likely freshening her up or hydrating her."

"And the coloration where she was hit with the hex? Did it spread much longer as it was doing before I put a stopper on the spell?"

"About an inch more, but it's no wider. Same reddish color." She leaned forward. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's better than what it could be." He stood and went to the cabinet, which she noticed had been rearranged and wiped down, and picked up a stack of parchments. "Here," he said, shoving them to her. "Read over these and meet me upstairs." His lip curled slightly. "And do make yourself presentable."

Hermione watched him depart through narrowed eyes while reaching for her cup again. If she felt like lowering herself to his level, she might just stay in her nightshirt and not bother to tame her hair. However, once she noticed that the dishes she'd used to cook with the night before had been washed and neatly stacked, she couldn't help feeling hopeful that he felt guilty for his actions the night before.

After finishing her coffee, she began perusing the parchments he'd left with her. "Oh... bloody hell," she muttered after she saw the date penned on the first page. A flip through the remaining stack showed that he'd been jotting down information and theories for a couple of weeks. Feeling completely guilty, she hurried to dress so that she could confront him.

Minutes later, she entered their workroom, parchments in hand. She checked the impulse to run a hand through her now tidy and pulled back hair. "Professor?"

Snape turned around, holding a phial containing a blue liquid in one hand. "Have you read them?"

"You started doing this right after they took you into custody," she said boldly, not wanting to put off the conversation.

"And?"

"You'd intended to help Ginny all along."

He turned away from her. "If you have indeed read through them, then you know it will only take a week for our brew to cure enough. After that, we can administer this to her." As she approached his side, his gaze again fell on her. "Lucky for her I was familiar with what happened to her...mostly."

"I know why you're so angry," Hermione said softly, resisting the urge to place a hand on his arm.

"You know nothing," he said brusquely.

"This whole time you'd planned on helping her, and here we are making it seem as if you are forced into it."

"There are some ingredients we'll need to procure. I've some of these in my stores at my home, but you will, of course, have to accompany me there, as I'm restricted from moving about freely." The bitterness in his voice couldn't be missed.

"We should have asked for you to be free," she said sadly, ignoring what he said. "It never really crossed my mind. I just thought that this would be best, that..."

"That you were saving me?" The glint in his eye wasn't friendly. "I've done everything I was supposed to do, and it still wasn't enough!" His voice lowered to a deadly whisper. "It appears that I have once again been put on the mercy of others. A Potter no less!" At these words, he lost his cool composure and kicked the table, knocking a few things to the floor in the process and causing Hermione to move back, startled.

"I'm sorry. Really. I feel horrible about this."

"Forgive me if I tell you that I don't give a damn how you feel right now." He nodded towards the parchments. "Let's get to work. I want to get this over with as soon as I can so that I might be deemed 'reformed' and be able to move on with my life in peace."

She'd find a way to make this up to him. Somehow. "Wh-when would you like to go to your home?"

"We'll need to go today. Now."

"That's not a problem. I don't have any plans."

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"Oh, this isn't what I expected," Hermione said softly, gazing around the nearly deserted neighborhood of dilapidated homes.

"Disappointed, are you? Thought you'd see a nice manor?"

"That's not what I meant!" she said heatedly.

"I'm certain it was."

She hurried to follow him down the cobbled street, nearly running into him as he stopped suddenly. "What's wrong?"

"I... nothing."

Hermione looked to where his gaze had drifted and saw a weedy park with a rusted swing set beyond a sparse copse of trees. Instinctively, she knew it was more than 'nothing.' Why would he have looked there? Did he have unsettling memories from his childhood there? She frowned. What a sad place to play for a child. She supposed, though, that back when Snape had been growing up, it was better cared for. There didn't seem to be any children running about, and it was likely rarely used...if ever.

Without a word, they then continued down the street to the very last house. He made quick work of unwarding his home and ushered her inside quickly, as if he feared someone might see them about. Once they entered and had the door locked behind them, however, his demeanor changed. For an instant, she thought he seemed a little embarrassed as she took in the drab room and furnishings, but that quickly passed, as his more acidic side came out.

"Do not touch my things. Stay in the sitting room." One eyebrow arched. "I mean it."

"I could help you if you'd like."

"I don't need your help."

"Really. It's no problem at all." She truly wanted to assist him in hopes she could prove to him that she wanted to try to be friendly.

"Let me rephrase that for you then. I don't want your help." His glare cut into her momentarily before he turned on his heel and flicked his wand at a bookshelf. It moved aside to reveal a rickety stairwell, which he quickly ascended.

"There goes that idea," she muttered darkly. How could she ever make things up to him if he fought her every step of the way? The state of the room looked worse than she'd first thought after she'd truly had a good look at it. Even though he obviously hadn't been about lately, it seemed like the house had been abandoned for many years. The furniture was very old and in a terrible state of disrepair. Dust lined the floors and the shelves. Peeling paint spotted the sections of the walls not covered by bookshelves. Even the curtains were tatty.

It was quite possible that he had been a little embarrassed by her seeing his home. She'd never been unfortunate enough to live in such a place, her parents always having money, but she did have a friend who never allowed her to enter her house because she claimed it was too ragged. She'd tried to explain that she didn't care about what her house looked like...only caring for her friendship. Unfortunately, once Hermione had started going to Hogwarts, they began drifting apart.

Unable to help herself, she strode over to the still-exposed doorway and gazed up in the direction Snape taken. Would he truly be angry if she followed him? To the left was a small hallway that led to what looked like a kitchen. As she took a timid step in that direction, a loud crash from above startled her. Pulling her wand, she quickly made her way up the stairs without a second thought.

"Professor? Are you all right?" she called as she entered the first opened doorway. What she saw made her lower her wand.

He was standing with his hands against the walls and his head bowed in defeat. At his feet, there lay many shards of glass from a broken picture frame. The picture was of a lovely young woman with long, red hair: Harry's mum.

"Oh..."

"Get. Out."

"I heard something and thought..." When he looked at her, she took a step back, shocked at the animosity in his eyes. "I really didn't mean to intrude."

"Will you not give me a moment's peace?" he hissed.

Without saying another word, she hurried down to the sitting room and sat on the threadbare sofa, thinking over what she'd just witnessed. She'd never seen Snape in that condition before. She'd seen him at his worse: livid and dangerously angry. But this was something completely different. Her stomach clenched, and she felt even guiltier than she had before.

He did deserve peace, didn't he? There was someone who could give it to him, and she would go see him as soon as she and Snape returned to her flat.

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Harry frowned as he took in everything his tearful friend had said. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't do that and still wrap his mind around all that she'd told him. Thankfully, Ron was there as well and able to pat her awkwardly on the back.

His thoughts jumbled: Ginny could be well in just over a week. Snape had already been working on something for her and hadn't needed to be forced into doing it. Dumbledore had requested that Snape be the one to kill him, knowing he was already dying. His friends trusted him. Kingsley and the others believed Snape's story and the one told by Dumbledore's portrait. Snape had loved Lily.

"M-maybe I've been wrong about some of this," he said finally, feeling a little guilty about some of the things he'd said and done and knowing he'd simply reinforced Snape's belief that he was just like his father, James. However, Snape hadn't been exactly kind to him either, never giving him a chance to prove that he was his own person...not a clone of his father.

Hermione smiled. "I feel so guilty. I mean, no wonder he's being an arse about this. I think that I would, too. All he's done, and here we are still not appreciating it."

"Just kind of hard when he killed the only man who..." Harry sighed, stood, and went to sit at Hermione's free side, putting a hand on her back. "I think I know how I can fix this."

"How?" Ron asked when Hermione busied herself with blowing her nose.

"Give him what he wants."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said gratefully, absently handing Ron her soiled handkerchief. "I just felt so horrible for him. I think this is for the best."

"Er, thanks," Ron said, making a face and tossing the linen to the floor.

It was then that Harry realized they weren't alone.

"Oh... hello," Hermione said softly.

"Granger," Parkinson said, eyeing the three uneasily. "I was just coming to say that Daphne doesn't want to cook." She crossed her arms. "And I'm not either! I did my turn yesterday."

"I, uh, think I'll just be going," Hermione said, rising. She quickly gave both Ron and Harry a hug before hurrying out.

"What's she doing here?" Pansy asked suspiciously, gazing at Ron.

"That's none of your business, Parkinson."

"Where's Daphne?" Harry asked, wanting to get away from the pair, who seemed to get nothing done but arguing.

"She's up in the bath!"

"Oh." His face flushed. "Could you tell her to come down then?" He certainly didn't want to deal with a female in a bath.

"She won't come."

"Er... I'll do that for you, Harry. Don't mind at all." Ron made to move forward only to be stopped by her words.

"Fine!" Pansy shouted suddenly. "I'll tell her!" As she got to the doorjamb, she added, "But one of you'd better start luncheon. I don't think it'll get done otherwise."

"What did we do to deserve that harpy?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes.

"Don't know, but I'm tired of this. I'm going to have a talk with Kingsley again. They might as well be on their own for all they did in the war."

"Aiding Death Eaters is pretty serious."

"Yeah, well, there are none to aid now, is there? Might as well get them out of here and out of our hair." He stooped down to pick up Hermione's handkerchief and called out, "Kreacher!"

Crack! "Master calls for Kreacher?"

"Er, do you think you could fix us something to eat."

"Something edible," Ron piped up.

"Yes, of course Kreacher can." The elf popped away quickly.

"Don't know if I like the sound of that," Ron said. "Was a bit too nice about it."

Harry agreed with a nod. "Took off before I could tell him to wash this."

Ron pulled out his wand. "No problem. Scourgify."

"Thanks."

There was a loud shriek from above and the slamming of a door.

"Bloody hell! That's it! I've had it with those two!" Ron yelled and thundered past Harry and up the stairwell.

He shoved the handkerchief in his pocket and sighed. He didn't care if they burned the place down. Ginny would be well soon, and that was all that mattered. First, he supposed he should take care of the Snape business.

Southern's Notes: And here's the latest chapter. Things will get better soon...promise!