A New Beginning?

~*~*~

Hermione was still abnormally quiet and reserved everywhere but when she was out in the garden. Snape supposed it was because she might be able to lose herself in the environment and forget whatever problems that were contributing to her current condition. Hermione had spent the last few days preparing the garden for her seed orders. They were both in the garden harvesting for potions ingredients as usual.

There had been a comfortable silence for a majority of the afternoon when Hermione suddenly spoke up. "You're not the professor I knew. You're different somehow."

Snape smirked a little. "So are you, Miss Granger."

She made a small noise of agreement. "A lot has happened since Hogwarts."

"Indeed," Snape agreed casually. He realized that he had a rare opportunity – to see if she might open up. "Care to share what I have missed?"

Hermione swallowed and looked down into her basket. She bit her lip in concentration, and Snape noticed she had tensed up. She focused on the dirt that she was slowly releasing from her hand, creating little puffs of dry silt when the bigger clumps hit the ground. He was prepared to retract his comment when she opened her mouth to speak.

"I don't know where to start," she admitted. "There's so much to say. And... none of it is easy to admit."

A tear slid down her cheek as she appeared to ponder her next statement. Snape set down his basket and moved to sit close to her. "Begin with the beginning," he said simply.

"I've lost almost everyone I consider family. Because of the war with Volde...," Snape cringed automatically when she began to say Voldemort's name. "...the Dark Lord." Snape's Mark had thankfully disappeared without major repercussions upon Voldemort's death, but the name still sent shivers down his spine. "How much do you know of the Final Battle? I know that you did not fight on either side. Professor McGonagall told us that it was unlikely you would be able to actively participate."

Snape nodded. "It was a promise I made to the headmaster before..." Snape paused. It was still quite painful for him to speak of the act he had been forced to commit against the only man he had ever wanted to call Father. He swallowed thickly and spoke. "I know next to nothing of what transpired. I only know that you were personally involved in bringing the Dark Lord down. I know you found the spell which cursed him to his absolute death." He paused again. "I also know that we lost far too many."

Hermione nodded in understanding and continued, "Then you were probably unaware that the Dark Lord tried to get our attention by... by... murdering my parents. He sent Death Eaters to attack my childhood home before the Order could get them into a safe house. We'd known for awhile they were a possible target, given my friendships. But my parents stubbornly refused to leave their practice and go into hiding. We were on our way to try to convince them again when we heard..." Hermione trailed off as she recalled the event. She sniffled but did not cry. Instead, she pounded the dirt with violence which betrayed her feelings.

"I had no idea that you had lost your parents," he said simply. Words were inadequate at the moment. Suddenly a few of the pieces of her puzzle seemed to fall into place; such as her bursting into tears on that first fateful day, and later, when he suggested taking her for a visit. He felt remorse for causing her past pain but tried to push it away. It was such an unfamiliar concept to him.

"Losing my parents was bad enough. But I lost my friends too. Neville. And Ron," she paused and sniffled. Snape understood, or so he thought.

"You lost more than a friend, then, with Mr. Weasley, perhaps. Were you two not romantically involved?"

Hermione laughed while simultaneously choking slightly on her tears. "No, Ron and I were never lovers. He was very much interested, but by the time he admitted it, my feelings were more sisterly than romantic. We agreed to stay friends." Her face darkened. "Most of his family is gone as well, only Molly, Arthur, Fred and Ginny are alive. They're not the same. The last I heard, Molly spends most of the day weeping over her lost children. Professor McGonagall was severely wounded; she now walks only with the assistance of a cane. She said that it would take a lot more than that to take her down. She doesn't like to talk about it, so I'm not exactly sure what happened. Professor Lupin was killed by Greyback in the Final Battle..."

Snape was saddened by that fact. They had never been friends, but Lupin was one of the Marauders who had not delighted in torturing him during their school years. He, like Hermione, had earned the Potion master's grudging respect over the years. They had proven themselves to be unlike the others.

Hermione continued, "...but it was Harry that really impacted me."

Snape looked at her in puzzlement. "What happened to Mr. Potter? Is he not in some elite position within the Ministry for all of his good deeds done for the wizarding world, yet again?" Snape couldn't help but let a little sarcasm into his tone. He still begrudged James, and some of his now-diluted malice was aimed towards the son.

Hermione looked at him slightly stricken. "Harry died. About a month after the Final Battle, he suddenly fell ill. The Healers at St. Mungo's couldn't work out what was wrong with him. Their best guess was that either he was hit with a stray curse that lay previously undetected or that his condition was somehow related to the death of the Dark Lord."

Snape didn't know exactly what to say except, "I'm sorry for your loss. Potter did not deserve to miss out on the world he helped to save."

Hermione gave him a tearful smile. "After Harry died, I felt so alone. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to live in the wizarding world anymore. I couldn't connect anything positive with it. We worked so hard to bring the Dark Lord down, and he still managed to take away almost everything I loved."

Hermione looked down and spoke the final sentence almost inaudibly to her lap. Snape could see the tension creep back through her body. As quickly as her talkative mood had appeared, it seemed to dissipate without warning. Snape was puzzled; he did not understand if this mood switch was due to her depression or to the mysteries of the female mind, or perhaps both?

Snape realized that he would not get any further information from her tonight. He was unsure what to do next. He did not feel comfortable leaving her alone after such an emotional confession. However, there were still a few plants to be harvested. He stood hesitantly and brushed off his robes. He made quick work of the remaining harvesting, and it was only just heading towards sunset when he motioned for her to follow him inside.

Hermione walked listlessly behind him and headed lethargically towards the couch in the study. She curled up on the couch, huddled under what Snape jokingly referred to as her blanket. She remained there until dinner was ready, and Snape nearly had to carry her to the table. She picked at her food, but still managed to eat a respectable amount.

Snape frowned at her while he held out his hand and said, "Accio Snape's Dreamless Sleep Potion." A vial flew up the stairs from the lab and into his waiting hand. He pressed the vial into her hand.

"Take this tonight. It is a far more potent version than you have been taking. You should not dream tonight. You have relived enough this evening." Hermione looked at him warily and nodded at the same time. She stood from her chair and disappeared down the hallway, up the stairs and into her room.

Snape slumped in relief and headed for the study. He Summoned the bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, and poured a healthy measure into the tumbler. The potent liquor burned on its way down his throat, but he was thankful for the reminder that he was alive. He had not expected such an emotional confession from her. He had not known the extent of pain she had gone through. He had lived through so much that he was nearly numb to it. She only recently understood what wizardkind could do when they turned to the Dark Arts. He knew that she was well-read in wizarding history, but there was nothing compared to actually living through the horrors of the war. Nothing could have prepared her for the trauma, and it was no wonder that she withdrew to the extent that she had. Snape's reaction had been to become reclusive and numb himself to the horrors.

It almost physically pained him to see her so destroyed by these last few years. He had not felt compassion like this towards any witch in a very long time. It was a completely foreign feeling to him and one he desperately wanted to ignore. For the first time in ages, he felt the urge to talk to someone who understood, who would listen. He needed to unburden himself and he needed advice. Snape desperately wished to converse with Dumbledore's portrait but was not ready to face McGonagall in person yet. He knew that she understood and supported him, but it did not make it any easier.

Disconcerted by the many thoughts whirling around in his mind, Snape poured himself another measure of Firewhisky. He spent many hours that evening staring into the fire and thinking about all that had transpired in the recent months, even years.

~*~*~

The next morning found a slightly grumpy and sleep-deprived Snape and a subdued Hermione at the table. Back to their mutual moments of silence, they worked in the lab and then headed out to the garden once the day's completed potions were sent via owl-post. A decent amount of time passed before Snape found himself settling down closer to Hermione.

"I suspect you might be feeling slightly... vulnerable because of your confession yesterday afternoon. I am... grateful that you felt comfortable enough with me to unburden yourself in that manner. I, too, know how it is to lose a family and those you care for." Hermione looked at him sharply, her unspoken question in her eyes.

"No, the Dark Lord did not take them from me. My father took care of that quite efficiently all on his own." Snape laughed bitterly. "You see, Miss Granger, I am not the pure-blood that you think. I, like your late friend Mr. Potter and the Dark Lord himself, am a half-blood."

"Actually, I did know that. I researched you..."

Snape interrupted her with a small laugh. "...in the library, of course. I should have guessed. But there is much you do not know. My mother saw fit to conceal her magical identity when she met my father. She lived a completely Muggle life until I was seven. That is when my magic chose to make itself known. She was forced to confess that she was a witch. Understandably, my father was shocked beyond all belief. However, his response was to overindulge in alcohol and drugs and to become abusive towards my mother and later, myself. We were forced to flee and live in seclusion here. He couldn't hurt either of us here. Or so we believed. Somehow, he tracked us down while I was away at Hogwarts. I wasn't there to protect her. I failed her... " Snape trailed off, dazed by his own admission.

Hermione was momentarily speechless. Snape could see that she was clearly unnerved by this wealth of new information and especially that it was of a very personal nature. She seemed to consider her next words carefully and settled on, "I had no idea."

They both sat there uncomfortably for a moment. He hadn't meant to admit so much about his childhood. It had simply poured out as if something had been unstoppered inside him. He felt extremely vulnerable and exposed. Not knowing what to say nor feeling as if he could look her in the eye, he hurriedly got up and retreated to the opposite side of the garden.

Unbeknownst to him, Hermione's eyes filled with tears on his behalf. He only became aware of it when her sniffling became audible to him from across the garden. Trying desperately to ignore it, he attempted to absorb himself entirely into his work. Finally, growling in frustration, he threw down his harvested ingredients and prepared to storm into the house.

It was her light voice, laced with pain, which stopped him in his tracks. "Please, don't leave. I know how hard that was for you to divulge. Trust me. Look at me, Professor," she implored.

Snape shook his head minutely. He couldn't...he couldn't look at her right now. He needed to be alone...away from her and as fast as possible.

Her small hand grabbed at his arm, and he angrily tried to pull away. "I did not give you leave to touch me!" he snarled. He wrenched himself away from her with more violence than was necessary. His anger was clouding his judgment, and he swept into the house, leaving an extremely distraught Hermione Granger in his wake.

He Summoned the Firewhisky from the study on his way up to his bedroom – the one room that he could call solely his own...where he could not be disturbed. He jabbed his wand angrily in the air as he spoke the incantations necessary to lock the door and soundproof the room. Snape practically threw himself into his well-worn but very comfortable armchair by the fire, causing Firewhisky to slop out of the bottle and onto his clothing. He cursed inventively and stared daggers at the fire.

He felt so many feelings at once it was hard to separate them. He was still in shock that he had allowed himself to be so exposed and vulnerable, especially in front of her. Merlin, he needed another drink. He slumped back into his chair and poured himself shot-after-shot until the bottle was empty. Each shot was thrown back after his mind drifted to the woman he had abandoned in the garden. The potent liquor had just begun to catch up with him when he finished the bottle. Not finding another in the vicinity, he cursed again.

With startling clarity, he sat up straight in shock. Damnit! He was turning into his father. A drunk who was selfishly drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He was supposed to be redeeming himself by helping to heal Hermione, not damaging her further. He cringed; how much damage had he done? He howled in frustration and hurled the bottle into the fire, resulting in only a mildly satisfying crash.

Why did she plague him so? Why hadn't he gotten rid of her long ago? Why had he brought her here in the first place?

"Because I asked you to."

Snape nearly jumped a mile when he heard his former mentor's voice.

"You can't be here. You're dead. I... I killed you. You're simply a Firewhisky-induced hallucination," Snape said, dismissing Dumbledore's presence airily.

"Perhaps, but I am your hallucination, one from your own mind." Faux Dumbledore's voice held traces of amusement. He offered Snape a lemon drop and Snape scowled at him.

"Fine, then. Exist if you wish. What do you want of me?"

"You seek answers to your questions, and very good ones, they are."

Snape snorted. Somehow his mind had conjured an incredibly realistic facsimile of Dumbledore. He was still maddening.

Dumbledore continued without missing a beat. "Why did you bring her here in the first place?" Dumbledore Conjured one of his comfortable chintz armchairs and settled himself happily across from the scowling Potions master.

"I brought her here because you. Told. Me. To." Snape bit off each word as if it were distasteful.

"Just how did I do that? I've been dead for awhile now. And I know you haven't been back to Hogwarts to visit my portrait," Dumbledore said innocently.

"You told me the night that I... that you... died... that I should do unto another what you had done unto me. That I would know when it was the appropriate time. And that it would change my life forever," Snape said, less sourly than before.

"Hasn't it though? Would you have willingly approached Miss Granger on your own?" Snape snorted. "Exactly. You wouldn't have. Perhaps fate has brought her into your life."

"Or perhaps you did, you interfering fool." Snape scowled at him, only causing the faux Dumbledore chuckle merrily.

"How will you ever know, my dear boy?" His eyes sparkled with amusement and feigned innocence.

"Are you quite sure you weren't a Slytherin?" Snape muttered dejectedly, sinking further into his chair.

"Now aren't you grateful that she is again a presence in your life? True, you may not have envisioned your life as thus, but it is what it is. And might some of your anger stem from your perhaps more than professional feelings towards the young woman down the hall?"

Snape hissed as he drew himself out of his chair, and began pacing rapidly. His companion chuckled. "Your silence speaks volumes, my boy. Is it so far-fetched for you to have begun to have feelings for Hermione Granger? She has been living here for several weeks, and neither of you have had any contact with the outside world, except via owl post," Dumbledore pointed out.

"I am twenty years her senior. I was her professor, for Merlin's sake! I eventually hurt those whom I become close to. Shall I go on? Oh wait. How could I forget? She's depressed. She's emotionally damaged and vulnerable from living through more hell than anyone ever should have at her age," Snape said angrily.

"The same could be said about you at her age, my boy. You sought a purpose in your life when you were lost and unfortunately it was with Tom Riddle. She has perhaps been luckier than you in that she has found her stability without the Dark Arts."

Snape grudgingly agreed. "Perhaps you are correct."

"Indeed. And is it so far-fetched for you to believe that she might have feelings in return? Hermione is a smart woman. Yes, my boy, a woman. She is far from the little girl you knew as your student. She's lived through incredible horror and tragedy. She was already far more mature than others her own chronological age when she was in school. Deep down, under all those layers of hurt and pain, is an intelligent woman whose unquenchable thirst for knowledge equals only the thirst of the person I am sitting in front of. And deep down, you know this. After all, I am only a figment of your imagination."

Snape digested all the information the facsimile of Dumbledore had just laid out in front of him. Maybe he did have a point. Snape frowned.

"Well, I think you're on the right track now. And I think you've answered some of your own questions. You might not realize it yet, but you have. It is not as ridiculous as it might seem. You have lived far too much of your life alone. It is time for you to seek companionship. You two are more suitable than you are willing to admit. You have already sought her companionship, you welcomed her into your home, and she has flourished here. For now, I think my work here is done. Come visit me at Hogwarts, my boy. I shall be waiting for you." The facsimile of Dumbledore patted Snape on his shoulder as he stood to leave. He walked over to the door, as if to exit and paused. Dumbledore turned back and looked at Snape. "You did the right thing before. Do the right thing now." And with that last tidbit of vague advice, the faux Dumbledore vanished before his eyes.

If Snape had been any other man, he would have broken down in tears of confusion and exhaustion. Instead, he got ready for bed. Worn out from the day's events, physical and emotional, Snape found himself not needing Dreamless Sleep Potion for the first time since Hermione Granger walked back into his life.

~*~*~

Snape had feared for Hermione's emotional state the following morning. He had seemingly abandoned an already emotionally distraught woman to selfishly contemplate his own feelings. Not one to easily admit his wrongdoing, he had risen early and prepared a breakfast that he hoped she would appreciate. It had been his subtle or not-so-subtle way of apologizing for his actions.

He had been slightly surprised that their emotional day had not caused any setbacks in her progress of coping with her depression.

They had fallen into their familiar work patterns as if that afternoon had never occurred. They had never expressly discussed the mealtime situation, but had fallen into an easy pattern. Hermione, who was usually first to wake, would make breakfast and have coffee and hot water brewing by the time Snape came down to the kitchen. Snape would organize dinner. Lunch and afternoon tea was prepared by whoever was finished with their task first.

The silences which permeated the daytime were of a different sort. There was still tension, and he spent a majority of his day observing her when he knew that she was absorbed in her own work. He had a sneaking suspicion she might be doing the same. The thought had simultaneously intrigued him and caused him to panic. They had conversations periodically throughout the day. However, those had been mostly pertinent to the task at hand or simple requests. Both of them had appeared constantly on guard, neither in a hurry to repeat their emotional day in the garden.

The arrival of her seed order had caused great joy in Hermione's life. Her face had lit up with excitement when the owl arrived carrying the paper-wrapped package. She had greeted the owl with such great enthusiasm that it pecked her mildly for her impatience. She had given the beautiful brown owl an extra treat, pocketed the packets and got immediately back to work with an extra burst of energy. Snape had never seen Hermione work so fast. Yet she was not sloppy with her work – it was as precise as ever. The potion had barely cooled when she had bottled it and flown up the stairs so quickly he almost swore she had Disapparated.

Eventually, she would require his assistance. Hermione, since her arrival at Spinner's End, had never asked for her wand nor had she attempted to perform magic. Her magic had been severely depleted when she had collapsed, and though she had since gained some strength back, she was still not up to par. He suspected that innately Hermione had known she was not ready to be performing magic whilst her moods and body were so far out of balance.

Snape had joined her shortly after completing his own potions and cleaning up the lab. She wouldn't let him see the names on the seed packets, but she had allowed him to watch her plant the seeds. She had grinned at him when she was finished, and he surprised himself by wanting to return it in full. He had instead settled for a Snape-like quirk of the lips and a raising of his eyebrow.

That particular day had been three weeks ago. Since then, they had felt increasingly more comfortable in each other's presence and their conversations had become more amiable. Hermione had finally begun exploring Snape's library. It seemed that whatever shell she had been hiding in had thinned significantly. She was distinctly more approachable and less moody than she had been when she had first come to his house.

Having been wholly absorbed in the overhaul of the vegetable garden and the omnipresent need to harvest potions ingredients, he had neglected to check the progress of the plants in 'her' plot. After satisfactorily completing the tasks that he had set himself, he wandered over to where she was sitting. Had she grown her seeds in Muggle soil, her plants would have not progressed to the stages that they had. He had thoughtfully provided her with magically altered soil which had mild growth accelerant charms infused in it. He had seen no need for her to have to wait long for results from her hard work.

"An interesting choice of plants," he intoned from above her.

She looked up and him and smiled as he moved to sit on a nearby rock. The smells from the herbs nearly overpowered the scents from the flowers. Purple blooms topped a strong stalk and created a thin border of purple fluffiness. Sizeable green leaves alternated down a sturdy stem, topped with miniscule white flowers. A few, tightly furled leaves were waiting to spread out and enjoy the sunshine. Over in the far corner, long, thin green leaves sprouted out from a base as if they were arms of a firecracker.

"I didn't choose the seeds for their practicality. I chose plants that reminded me of my family and of my friends. I chose lavender because it is one of my favorite scents. My mother always smelt of lavender. It reminds me of reading books with her. I chose basil and coriander because my father loved cooking more than anything else in the world. He never used a recipe book or measuring utensils. These were some of his favorite spices. And these," she indicated the flowers bordering the other plants in her plot, "remind me of my friends. They're my favorite flower."

Snape was surprised that she was able to speak of her parents without more than a slight waver in her voice. Hadn't it been just yesterday that she promptly burst into hysterics when any allusion to her family entered into the conversation?

"I do not recognize the plant. What is it?" he said truthfully. He was woefully unfamiliar with plants that were not used in potions. He indicated the shorter plants with lush green leaves topped with brightly variegated blooms with wide, rounded petals.

"Viola Wittrockiana is the botanical name for the plant, but most people know them as pansies," she informed him. He snorted in response.

"A name with an unfortunate connotation for such an aesthetically pleasing flower," he observed wryly.

"Agreed," she said heartily. He smirked as he observed her color choices.

"How very Gryffindor of you," he remarked as he singled out the red and gold colored flower.

She grinned cheekily at him. "I simply couldn't resist counteracting the overwhelming Slytherin presence in this garden. This one I chose because it reminded me of Harry because of its simultaneous simplicity and complexity. There's more than meets the eye with this one," she explained as she pointed out a deep purple bloom with a hint of yellow at its center. "This one reminded me of Ron," she pointed to a maroon flower with a large yellow patch in the center. "This one reminded me of Dumbledore." Her finger indicated a purple, lavender and black one. She hesitated for a moment. She pointed out several different color choices, bypassing one in favor of others while explaining which person or persons were represented in her garden.

"And this one?" he prompted her, nodding towards the black one. She looked down at her dirt-stained hands and mumbled something nearly incoherently.

"Pardon me, but I did not catch what you were saying," Snape remarked. Hermione sighed and raised her head slightly.

"This one is not actually black. If you look really closely, you can see hints of purple, blue and red," Hermione explained without actually answering his question.

"Why did you choose that particular color? It is certainly darker than any other flower that you have chosen. You seem to have chosen to surround yourself with vibrant colors, why choose such an opposing color?" Snape was truly puzzled. Hermione sighed deeply.

"I chose it because it reminded me of you," she said, mostly to her hands, but loudly enough for him to hear.

Snape was stunned. Was it truly possible that she did indeed care for him? She still did not look at him, choosing to look elsewhere. Her body language seemed to indicate that it was possible, but he had to know for sure. Hesitatingly, he reached his hand towards her face and tilted her chin.

Her face showed an exterior calm, but her eyes spoke volumes. She whispered something underneath her breath and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I cannot hear you when you speak at that particular decibel level," he pointed out.

"You can use Legilimency if you want," she whispered shakily.

Snape was pleased at her willingness to open her mind to his. He blinked at her. She nodded in affirmation. He made sure he had solid eye contact and took a deep breath. "Legilimens."

He was surprised at what he found when he delved into her mind. Her mind was just as chaotic as he had expected, considering all the emotional trauma she had been through. Bits of her childhood flashed in front of him: her first encounter with magic, receiving her Hogwarts letter, her first ride on the Hogwarts Express. He felt the elation of performing her first bit of magic, her disappointment when she was treated poorly by some of her classmates, her subsequent eagerness to prove herself.

While it was an illuminating look into her past, that wasn't why he had entered her mind. It wasn't hard to find her most recent memories. He steered away from the darker memories which contained all of the pain of the Final Battle and the fallout thereafter. He felt her pain as she attended funeral-after-funeral of her schoolmates and members of the Order. He experienced her despair as she lost interest in the wizarding world and subsequently lost interest in life.

She had been fired from her Muggle job when she began to lose track of time and did not show up for work. She had become a vagrant after realizing that she could no longer live in her parent's home surrounded by reminders of her now painful past. She left everything behind and began wandering from place-to-place, surviving on whatever she could find. The Muggles had homeless shelters which she took advantage of in the beginning. Once the government started to try to help her, Hermione had fled and tried to survive on her own. He had not realized how close she had been to inadvertently ending her own life through personal neglect and lack of desire to live in either world.

Simultaneously saddened and thankful that he had happened upon her that day in the marketplace, Snape moved on to the part of her mind he most devoutly wished to see. He found himself seemingly looking at his reflection, but in fact, it was how she viewed him through her own eyes. He felt her initial anger and confusion of that first day. He experienced the whole gamut of emotions she had experienced in those first few weeks, ranging from despair to brief flashes of happiness to the first stirrings of comfort. He was pleased to note that she had felt more relaxed towards him earlier than he had originally perceived in his own mind. He felt her eventual thankfulness for his assistance in breaking her out of the depression which had taken over her life.

He watched as her opinion of him changed from grudging respect to outright curiosity to piqued interest in her own reaction to his unfortunate encounter with the Ferocious Fern. Somehow, that event had been a turning point in both of their minds. He was shocked and surprised to discover that she indeed harbored an attraction to him. She had been puzzling on it almost as long as he had and to a much greater extent.

He had seen enough, he decided. He released her chin and sat back, trying to absorb everything he had seen.

Hermione sat there, silently awaiting his reaction with widely opened, slightly panicked eyes.

"I had no idea that...that you felt that way towards me," he said carefully.

Hermione blinked at him. "Please don't be angry with me. It's probably inappropriate, but I couldn't keep it from you anymore. It wouldn't be right. I've been trying desperately to hide it. I thought I was horribly transparent..."

Snape held up his hand to stop her rambling confession.

"Why ever would I be angry with you, you silly little girl?" Snape said wryly. "I was simply surprised to discover...that you felt the same way... that I do for you." Snape watched her carefully to gauge her reaction.

Hermione's eyes opened wider and then she smiled. "I'll have you know I am not a silly little girl."

Snape agreed. "You are most definitely not a girl. You are a woman. A woman who has lived through far more tragedy than any one person should experience in a lifetime. A far cry from the student I once taught."

"Perhaps. I did say that the Dark Lord took away almost everyone I loved." The unspoken "Everyone but you," was clearly communicated by her eyes.

Hermione smiled at him as she scooted closer. Snape allowed her to settle her head on his shoulder as she leaned into the side of his body. They silently contemplated the emotional events which had transpired that day. Both were surprisingly complacent with the change in their relationship; it felt so natural. It was Snape who finally broke the thought-filled silence.

"I am the broken one. I never expected to be the one to help heal another," Snape said simply.

Hermione raised her head to look at him. She took one of his hands and placed it in hers and squeezed it. He returned her squeeze gently and gazed at her. She took her other hand and touched his face. She tilted it towards hers and, after a moment's contemplation, kissed him delicately on his lips. Snape was momentarily surprised, and a brief moment passed before he returned the kiss. When they broke apart, he smiled and pulled her a little closer into his side and wrapped his arm around her.

For the first time in a long while, Snape felt at peace with life, in his mother's garden with one of the last people he had ever expected to be a part of his life.

A/N :The Ferocious Fern is my own invention.

The link to see the pansies is here: http://www.iciclepansy.com/colors.htm

First one indicated: Fire and Ice

Snape: Clear Black

Harry: Clear Purple

Ron: Skippy XL Red-Gold

Dumbledore: Icicle Denim

I'd also think she would've put Purple Slash and Autumn Sun in her garden