The Friendship’s Challenged

~o0o~

Day 14

The early morning sunlight poured in from the window, lighting the room with a pale warm glow. Hermione was already up, dressed and with her hair tied back with a strip of cloth, reading, cross-checking and cross-referencing between seven books laid out before her. She'd been up for an hour and had already asked Arimus to take a letter to George, asking him to send her parchment, quills, ink, seven composition books, a few journals and a study guide. She'd enclosed a note to Gringotts allowing George reimbursement from her parents' vault.

Snape had not only allowed her to have access to his seventh-year books, but he'd had Hermione pull down a large selection of his library, which was now stacked in sections on a long, low table she'd set along one wall: Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Prince family library, it seemed, didn't have many selections on Ancient Runes; however, Hermione still had all her own dictionaries stacked on the table for her use, since she'd still had those in her beaded purse.

Suddenly the small timer next to her bed chimed, and she set her books aside to tend to Snape's wound and fix him breakfast.

Snape's eyes were open when she entered the converted dining room. "Good morning," he mumbled. "So what subject did you start reading this morning?" he asked as Hermione crossed the room to fill her bowl with warm water and retrieve her flannel.

"Transfiguration," she replied. "You know, your annotations and diagrams in the margins are really incredible. Do the spells you wrote work?"

"Yes," he said. He pulled himself up to sit as she approached.

She set the bowl down and began to gently unwrap his neck. "You should really consider rewriting Terell Wertheim's book with your own stuff added in. There're a lot of good hints and suggestions, and the extra annotations are exceptional." Hermione carefully examined the bandage and his skin for signs of infection, concerned that the wound was draining again. The wound, although somewhat thinner and appeared to be closing, was unfortunately still a very dark pink, and the edges were still a grayish-white and yellowish-white in places.

His eyes narrowed into a scowl. "And why should I? Many of those spells would be considered Dark Arts if anyone knew I'd invented them. Besides, no one would take a manuscript I wrote seriously."

"Don't sell yourself short. I bet you'd make a fortune writing what you know about potions, poisons and anti-dotes, for starters," Hermione replied, retrieving his potions and salves to began carefully cleaning his neck. "I bet you could re-write the entire set of Potions school books, update them, improve on the basic formulas and directions. You could even become famous and get your well-deserved acknowledgement." She was thinking about Harry's copy of Advance Potion Making by Libatius Borage that had actually belonged to him. "I know I'd have loved to have known all those tips and techniques you've been showing me these last few days when I was in school. You've a brilliant intellect and natural instinct when it comes to potions and the interaction of ingredients."

"I'm afraid you'd be mistaken, Miss Granger. You forget that my actions and past will become common knowledge soon enough." He winced as she set the salves with the Absorption Charm. "They don't let people write books from Azkaban."

Hermione instinctively reached out and brushed his hair from his face. "You don't... I'll stand for you," she said and laid her hand on his shoulder. Snape looked up at her, baffled by the intimate touch. "I know that there will be a trial, I'm not naïve to think there won't be. But you did help to bring down Riddle, and you were on our side. That has to count for something."

He reached up to remove her hand from his shoulder, but he held it a moment, looking at her delicate fingers, examining her nails. "I've known all along that I'd have to stand trial, Miss Granger. Our kind isn't as forgiving as you are; my prospects are not favorable." He dropped her hand and turned to look at the wall. "I'm hungry."

Hermione looked at him a moment, but he refused to look at her. "I think you'd be surprised who will stand for you," she said as she walked to the kitchen. Snape was trying to slip from the bed when Hermione turned to carry the plates to the table. He was practically on his feet when she reached his side. He stumbled slightly before she reached out and supported him, helping him regain his balance. "Suspendere Leviosa," she said, quickly casting the spell to enable him to walk.

"I hate this," he said softly as he accepted her help to the table.

"I know, sir. But you are improving, just maybe not as quickly as you'd like." They ate in silence, Hermione giving him the option whether to converse or not. Nevertheless, she'd been pleased to see that he could almost stand up on his own, and he had much more control and strength in his arms and legs. She watched him shyly as she ate, pleased that he still had a fairly good appetite. That was another good sign of improvement.

*

Hermione sat at the kitchenette table while Severus was reclining slightly in his bed, reading Snape's Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. She was copying all of Snape's diagrams and annotations into a journal and trying to decipher the scribbling of what may have been made-up spells and incantations as well as taking notes on the spells Snape had indicated for her to learn. However, she was very interested in the spells and incantations in his tiny script, wondering if Snape created them himself.

Her coin vibrated in her pocket and she drew it out. The message read: What's a walker? G. Hermione smiled and tapped the coin with her wand. Ask H, he knows.. She smiled, knowing Ginny's confusion. In her latest letter to the Burrow, Hermione asked Ginny to see if Harry could get her a walker for Snape. If he can get out of bed and stand, maybe he could start walking, she'd surmised. It would be good for him and help him get stronger. She had tried drawing a diagram of a walker, but the three sketches looked ridiculous. The coin vibrated and she nearly laughed at Ginny's reply. Dad thinks he has one. The coin vibrated again. Sending, need to enlarge. G.

An hour later, Hermione sent the folding metal stepladder back with another diagram, each part carefully labeled and a full description of what a walker was used for to the Burrow. The letter that came with the stepladder from Mrs. Weasley had been supportive, asking again who her friend was and why Hermione couldn't just come by for a visit. She mentally struggled with the idea of telling them, but knew that Harry, Ron and possibly George would have the wrong idea and think she'd been abducted. She'd written a brief reply to Mrs. Weasley and decided to write to Ginny, and tell her everything, using a Confidentiality Charm on the parchment.

Ginny had written back, alarmed and confused, saying that Harry and Ron had told her that Snape was dead. Hermione sent Ginny's owl back, with a long reply, telling her what had happened when she went back to the Shrieking Shack, pleading for Ginny to trust her and that she was fine and safe. She tried to explain everything, pleading that Ginny be very tactful when she told everyone else. It was a relief to be able to confide in her friend. Hermione hoped that she could trust Ginny to break the news to Harry, Ron and George delicately and be able handle their outbursts.

Within an hour, Hermione had been surprised to receive letters from Ron, Harry, George, Mr. Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall all wanting confirmation that she was all right. She wrote each one, trying to be as reassuring as possible that she was fine, but that a Fidelius Charm protected the house and she couldn't tell them where she was. She also mentioned in Minister Shacklebolt's note that she was helping Snape brew potions for the victims of the war, sending the potions to Master Kirkwell at St. Mungo's. She hoped that Snape wouldn't be too angry to know that she'd told him.

*

Two books, parchment, inkwell and quill, a potato, a shoe, a glass jar, a candle, a brush, a medium-sized rock, a rat and a squirrel all sat on the table between Hermione and Snape. He'd placed the rat and squirrel under the Imperius, much to Hermione's indignation, since it was the only way to make the small animals comply with being spell subjects. Arimus stood on his perch watching. "You learned how to Transfigure a potato into a shoe, a shoe into a flower pot and an animal into a water goblet," Snape said. "I want you to do the same spells nonverbally."

Hermione nodded and concentrated on Transfiguring the potato in front of her into a shoe. She'd done these in class, but Snape wanted her to do them in from of him and under his intense scrutiny, which didn't make the task any easier. Quite the contrary, it was unnerving and took all her concentration to keep her mind focused and not falter. Her lips moved slightly, and he scowled at her. "No, Miss Granger, not silently, nonverbally. I don't want to see your lips moving. Reverse the spell – nonverbally – and try again."

She exhaled and, pursing her lips, changed the shoe back into a potato. "Relax your face, please," he said as she raised her wand again. She opened her mouth to retort and he interrupted her. "No talking of any kind. Just do the spell."

Her eyes flicked from him to the potato and turned it into a shoe. This is unnerving, having him watching so closely .... She nodded and looked down again at her potato. Potatoes are for eating – not wearing, she mentally grumbled. Still she was delighted when the potato transformed into a nice, ankle-high boot.

"Fine, now change the shoe into a vase. I'd prefer a nice crystal vase please," he instructed, his tone patient.

"A vase?" she asked. He nodded and tapped the shoe with his wand. Hermione quickly scanned her notes and found a spell to turn an animal into a vase, hoping that it would work on potatoes. What she got was a lumpy, brown cylinder.

Snape looked at her reprovingly. "That is not a crystal vase."

"I can see that," she said, mentally berating herself as she checked her notes. "Ah, crystallinum not crystallum." Hermione pointed her wand and repeated the spell thinking, 'Crystallinum,' during the incantation. Her lumpy brown cylinder became clear, but not really all that pretty.

He flicked his wand and the vase turned back into a potato. "Very good. Try again." Hermione concentrated and cast her spell, pleased to see a reasonably clear vase appear. "Inadequate. Your lips moved, Miss Granger, and I'd hardly call that a reasonable crystal vase. I did not ask for glass, I asked for crystal. Turn it back and try again."

"We've been at this an hour..." she started to say.

"And the potion isn't going to need your attention for another hour, and after that, I will need to have my dressing changed before dinner," he said pointedly. "So, we will continue. Change the vase back into a potato, and then into a shoe and then change it again into a crystal vase."

Hermione flicked her wand, and the vase transformed back into a potato. "Not bad, at least you can reverse your spells efficiently," he said with a smirk.

Was that an actual compliment? Hermione took a deep breath and focused her attention on the task. She transformed the potato into boot, and then into a sparkling crystal vase. "There. How's that?"

"Acceptable. Now transfigure the squirrel into a fedora," he said, his face expressionless.

Hermione wanted to slump in defeat. "Would it hurt you to give a little encouragement now and again?"

"I thought I just did," he said flatly. Hermione scowled at him. "I did tell you it was acceptable."

"Acceptable?" she asked, wanting him to elaborate.

"Yes, acceptable," he said firmly. "Outstanding would be if you could do the Transfiguration the first time. The squirrel if you will."

Hermione checked her notes and cross-referenced the spell in the copies of a Guide to Advanced Transfiguration and Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration, and quickly wrote down her assumption of which variation of the spells would work. She looked up at Snape hoping for validation, but he simply sat there, watching her, with his fingers laced together, resting them on table in front of him.

"Thank you," she replied. "This isn't easy, with you sitting here watching so intently, commenting on every little nuance of every movement I make."

He cocked one eyebrow and regarded her sternly. "You wanted me to instruct you, did you not?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"So, get on with it," he said firmly.

"Yes, sir."

"Nonverbally, Miss Granger, means no talking."

Hermione scowled at him for a second, and then quickly turned her concentration back to the squirrel. She missed the quick flicker of a smile on Snape's face when she turned the animal into a reasonable fedora.

*

Hermione stretched and tried to fight back a yawn as she copied down Snape's annotations, diagrams and corrections from Intermediate Potion-Making by Libatius Borage diligently filling a magical composition book, wishing that she had Snape's Advanced Potion-Making. The books, Magical Drafts and Potions and Magical Elixirs, Solutions and Unctions, by Arsenius Jigger sat next to her. So far, Hermione had filled up two magical composition books from those two books. Snape's annotations fascinated her. No wonder Harry did so well in Potions in sixth year! These comments are brilliant! She knew that Snape had been making her use several of the techniques and variations when she brewed potions under his tutelage in the potions lab. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and Magical Creatures Great and Small both lay on her right, but she was getting too tired and knew that she would have to stop soon. Hermione stretched and looked at the timer by her bed. An hour. And after I add in the newt tails and evening primrose, it will be time to change his dressing again. Hermione stretched once more and rolled her neck to ease the strain before returning her attention back to copying down Snape's tiny writing.

~o0o~

Day 15

Ginny's owl, Portia, flew in the window at first light, landing on the carpet with a thud, tumbling over the metal frame in her claws. Even though the frame had been shrunk down to size for a very small child, the walker had been quite a load for the young barn owl. Pig flew in shortly after, flying loops around the room, screeching happily. Hermione quickly cast a Silencing Charm on him and reached up to catch the tiny owl. "Hush, you'll wake Snape!" she admonished the tiny owl. He gazed up at her petulantly. "I'm sorry! You did exceptionally well bringing me the letter, but you must be quiet!"

Portia ruffled her feathers as if offended that she wasn't complimented too. "And you, too, carrying such a heavy load. I'm impressed with you as well," Hermione amended. She untied the letter from Ron and Harry, amused that she had received more letters from her friends now in the few days that she was 'imprisoned' in Snape's house than any summer holiday since her first year. She crawled over to untie the walker from Portia's legs and noticed a letter from Mr. Weasley.

Hermione,

I hope Severus isn't being too much trouble for you and that he is minding his manners. It is awfully dear of you to tend to him so. As per your last letter, Kingsley and I have consulted Albus' portrait, and Harry has shown us the memories he took from Snape the night he... Mr. Weasley had written, died, which was scratched out. Uh, was bitten. I think you should know that Harry has asked to lead up the investigation into Severus's involvement during the war. The Criminal Investigation and The Dark Years War, (that is what we're officially calling the last twenty years – some are still not too keen on saying his name), Trials Committee, (made up mostly of every surviving member of the Order. We've all been requested to join – quite the privilege.), have decided to consider Snape's internment under your protective services as time served while his investigation is being handled. You may inform Severus that as long as you are watching him, we see no reason to send him to Azkaban.

Criminal Investigation and The Dark Years War Trials Committee

"Well, that's interesting," she said aloud, and she smiled as she folded up the letter. She thanked Portia and removed the spell on Pig before both owls flew away. Picking up the walker, Hermione made her way into the kitchen to heat water and to fix Snape his breakfast. Snape looked asleep as she quietly placed the walker next to him and walked into the kitchen.

"What is that?" he asked sharply, nearly making Hermione jump out of her skin as she set the bowl of water beside him.

"A walker," she said casually. "Do you want to sit up for me? It makes this easier."

Snape pulled himself up, still glaring at the walker. "I know what a walker is. Why is it here?"

"To help you walk," Hermione said as she began to unwrap his neck. "The bandage looks much better this morning. I think the draining has stopped." In fact, as she gently cleaned the wound, she noticed that it looked much better. The grey and whitish discoloration was fading, although the wound and skin still looked dark pink and the yellowish-white in the wound was still there. Still, it looked better to her. "Your swelling is down too, but I think I should still use the Anti-Swelling Salve."

Snape merely grunted or made affirmative sounds to her statements, his eyes still flicking distastefully toward the walker. "Where did you get that from?"

"The walker?" she asked, then uttered the Deep Absorption Charm for the healing salves and began to apply the Anti-Swelling Salve.

Snape turned his gaze on her. "Yes, Miss Granger, the walker. Where did you get it from?"

"Mr. Weasley, of course." Hermione carried the bandage to the sink to soak.

"You told Arthur Weasley about me?"

"I wrote to Ginny and asked her if she could get you one. Apparently, her dad had it and he sent it to us," she said as she heated the muesli and sausages.

"Who else knows, Miss Granger?"

"Who else knows what, exactly?" she asked as she placed breakfast on the table and walked over to him. "Are you going to eat in bed or at the table?"

Snape tried to ease from the bed, expecting her to allow him to lean on her. "Don't get cheeky with me. I'll eat at the table, of course."

"Suspendere Leviosa," she said, enabling Snape to walk. Instead of standing next to him so that he could lean on her, Hermione opened up the walker.

Snape looked at the walker with disgust, watching Hermione walk away toward the kitchen. He grabbed on to the walker, testing his legs. "Who else knows about me?" he asked, scowling.

Hermione shrugged. "My friends, the members of the Order, possibly a few others."

Snape was only two steps from the table when he stopped and glared at her. "What?" he snarled. Hermione moved the chair so that he could sit down. He ignored the chair, turning to look at her. "What do you mean, 'a few others'? What do they know?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "They know you were bitten by Riddle's snake – the same snake that bit Mr. Weasley. The Weasleys know that you're the friend I've been helping, and that I cannot – will not leave until you're well. The Weasleys have been very supportive. I also received letters from Professor McGonagall, Minister Shacklebolt and Harry. But you know that I've been in contact with my friends."

"What exactly do they think you are doing here?"

He was angry, and Hermione wasn't sure as to why, exactly. "What has your wand in a knot? Just tell me. I know your temper, and I'd rather you simply told me what was wrong!"

"They will add abduction and kidnapping to my multiple charges! Abduction by a known Death Eater, Miss Granger. I'm a man, old enough to be your father, and you're alone with me in my house. They may try to accuse me if inappropriate behaviors and they will believe the worst. You have not left this house since..."

"Fifteen days. And I wasn't abducted – exactly. I'm eighteen, sir, and not a child. I'm an adult who chose to stay and help a fellow Order member, one time professor, and friend. They'll see it exactly for what this is!"

"I'm sure Potter is simply fuming about you being here with me." Snape made the last two steps and sat in his chair. His use of the walker was encouraging, but it obviously was still difficult for him. "I suppose he's just waiting to haul me off to Azkaban. The Chosen One captures another Death Eater."

Hermione turned on him. "What? Harry has actually been very supportive about this, too."

Snape snorted in derision.

"Well, he has!" She pulled out the letter from Mr. Weasley and thrust it at him. "Well, go on then – read it!"

The timer went off for her potion, and Hermione quickly excused herself, eager to leave the room so that he could seethe in private. "Crush the seeds with a fork, Miss Granger. Gently blow the shucks away. Do not puff at them like a bellow, and then lay the seeds on the surface of the potion. Do not stir until the seeds have all sunk into the potion," he barked at her before she could leave the room.

"Yes, sir."

Hermione was still waiting for the last of the seeds to sink, leaning over the cauldron to check the progress of the potion when Snape walked into the room using his walker. "So are you now my prison guard, Miss Granger?" he asked, nearly making Hermione jump again. "I'm now under house arrest and interned under your supervision."

"I believe my title is Protective Custody Services Monitor, but no, I am not your prison guard." She grimaced, turning her attention back to her potion. The last three seeds still floated on the surface. "And if you cared to note, Harry is trying to absolve you of any crimes, not arrest you."

"Absolve me? Can you be sure about that, Miss Granger?" he said, walking over to check her progress.

Well, she couldn't, not really. She was sure that Harry had no idea where Snape's house was. Nor anyone else for that matter, or they'd have been here by now.

"The Ministry obviously cannot locate the house, so they are using you to keep me interned," he snarled. "It's the only reason I'm not in Azkaban."

"What are these memories he took from you that night? And what would Professor Dumbledore's portrait say about you?" The last three seeds sunk below the surface of the potion and Hermione began to stir the potion in a scooping motion. "Everything you did during the war was for the downfall of Riddle, wasn't it? You even said yourself..."

"Not everything, Miss Granger." He sounded weary when he spoke, although still quite angry. "I did things even you wouldn't be able to forgive me for."

"Like killing Professor Dumbledore." It slipped out too quickly, and Hermione regretted saying it the moment she did.

"Yes."

"I suppose so. Except that if you believe that, you don't know me very well." She looked up, reading the direction on the wall, memorizing the next three steps carefully, because the timing was so quick and she had to be very precise. Four minutes... "You must've had your reasons or things weren't as they seemed... It could have been one of the others..." She focused on quickly dicing the Lenten rose bracts, trying to keep herself from being distracted by his admission.

"This is a crucial stage, Miss Granger. Do not get distracted," he snapped.

She reached for her giant wood mites to press their excretions onto her diced bracts. Her hands shook slightly, but she quickly extracted secretions from all twenty mites, producing a large quaintly of the dark, gluey gel. She scooped out the mass, careful not to touch any to her skin and let it drop into the potion, quickly adding in the Dead Sea salt. She stirred the potion three times quickly and laid the stirring rod down. The potion hissed, then changed to a deep cobalt color. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. "I'm sure you had a reason, or maybe Harry misinterpreted something... Maybe he missed..."

"No, I'm quite sure that he did not misinterpret what happened," he said firmly.

Hermione couldn't look at him. "He said you killed Dumbledore out of anger. That you had a look of revulsion and hatred on your face, that you simply... just... killed him..." She closed her eyes to fight back the tears.

"Is that how Potter described it to you?" His voice had a hint of remorse in the harshly spoken words.

She looked up at him and saw deep condemnation in his expression. "Then you tell me. You tell me how – why...? He trusted you – implicitly..."

"And that is exactly why he insisted that I do it. He didn't want Draco to kill him. He was dying, Miss Granger, a very slow and very painful death – that I tried and could not stop. The curse on that ring that destroyed his hand was creeping up his arm. It had reached his shoulder and was close to reaching his heart," he said in a cold, hard voice. Hermione gasped at what he was telling her. "I was forced into an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy, and Dumbledore knew of the vow, and he knew that Draco had been given orders to kill him. Draco tried, unsuccessfully, five times to kill Dumbledore."

"Five?" she asked. She knew of the poisoned wine and the opal necklace...

"Yes, five unsuccessful attempts. I thwarted one myself. He levitated two Acromantulas into the Headmaster's private quarters, sent poisoned wine to Slughorn, that opal necklace which cursed Miss Bell, sent Dumbledore poisoned Bubotuber puss in a letter and placed devil's snare under the Headmaster's chair in the Great Hall," he said.

Hermione gasped in shock.

"It was obvious that Draco was getting desperate. The last promise Dumbledore extracted from me, the final wish of a dying man, my friend, mentor and master was for me to kill him rather than let Draco do it. He was my real master, Miss Granger. I killed him because he made me promise. He made me swear to him that I would do it to save Draco's soul. That night on the tower, he begged me to keep my promise and kill him. I would have died from the Unbreakable Vow if I had not. Dumbledore had insisted that I keep up my pretences, keep my place in the Dark Lord's inner circle. And yes, I hated him for insisting upon it, and I was revolted by the fact that he pleaded for me to do it." Hermione was amazed at the compunction in his voice, although his face held his usual hard sneer.

"He pleaded with you, asked you to kill him and you did!" She was incensed.

"Ah, that great, noble, Gryffindor loyalty. Yes, Miss Granger. I killed the only man to ever really believe in me. I obeyed his last wish and prevented Draco from killing him. I saved my own hide so that I could continue as his spy, and continue to do what he desired me to do, even after he was dead. To protect the students of Hogwarts, and help Potter anyway I could to defeat the Dark Lord."

"But you didn't have to!" she protested.

"He was dying. He was nearly dead. There were four Death Eaters on that tower besides Draco and myself: Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Slajer and Rowle, and that filthy werewolf, Greyback. The one thing Dumbledore feared was that in his weakened state, if he faced the Dark Lord, he wouldn't have the strength to resist him, to prevent the Dark Lord from extracting his knowledge and secrets. Moreover, he was concerned about the Draco's future, his soul. He didn't want Draco to become a killer. Believe me, Dumbledore wasn't going to survive the night. I could see that as plainly as the condemnation on your face." Snape turned to leave, his movements slow. "Now lower the flame on that potion before you ruin it."

*

He hadn't been very communicative after that. Snape was rather indifferent toward Hermione when she did his afternoon dressing change and chose to stay in bed after lunch. She sought him out with a question regarding a charm she was having difficulty with, but he was standing next to a table of herbs in his atrium and answered her curtly. Hermione gave up trying to talk with him about his past and spent the rest of the day reviewing in the sitting room.

After dinner and his evening dressing change, Snape was at least speaking to her again, although gruffly. Hermione cleaned up the kitchen, then tended to the herbs she had growing in the bay window. As she passed his bed, she stopped to check a few of his vials to see if any of them needed refilling. In her haste, she almost knocked his book, Tales of Wanderous Myths, off the dish cupboard by accident, catching it before it fell.

Snape turned to her, his eyes focused on the book. "Do you want this?" she asked before setting it down.

"Yes, no..." he said quietly. Hermione turned to lay the book down. "Yes."

"Pardon?" she said, turning around again.

He sighed and tried to turn to look at her. "Yes, I'd like to have my book."

Hermione looked at him, trying to read his mood and to understand him. I made him angry by making him talk about Dumbledore, something he obviously didn't wish to talk about, but felt compelled to tell me anyway. Why? So I'd understand him... or to push me away from him? "Would you like me to read to you for a while?"

There was a long pause before he finally answered, "Yes, I'd appreciate it if you would."

"I'm rather surprised that you like this book so much," she said off-handedly, opening to the marker.

"A friend from my school years read this to me when I was hospitalized by two strong hexes... from both Black and Potter," he confessed softly. "This copy was her gift to me on my birthday that year."

~o0o~

Day 16

Snape was trying to rise out of bed when Hermione walked into his dining room boudoir. She immediately noticed that the spells to support him had obviously worn off, and she quickly raised her wand. "Suspendere Leviosa," she said. "I'm so sorry!" He glared at her as she quickly added the Spine-Locker Spell and placed the walker by his bedside, oblivious to his scowl. "What?" she asked as his expression became angry.

"I wanted to see if I could do this without magical assistance," he snapped.

"But you can't... wait a minute! You released the spells?" she asked, gobsmacked. His expression darkened. "Obviously you did... But why? You obviously still need them."

"Yes. I want to be able to walk – on my own," he snapped.

"I want that, too!"

He looked at her incredulously. "Do not patronize me, Miss Granger. I know you can hardly wait to be rid of me..."

"That's not it at all!" she exclaimed. He glared down at her skeptically. "I hate seeing you like this..." She moved her hand, indicating his current state. "It's why I've stayed with you – because I want you to heal. The one thing I counted on throughout this whole war was your infallibility, your strength and bravery... Knowing that you were on our side – helping..."

"Really," he said superciliously.

"Yes. Really!" she exclaimed as she turned to retrieve the flannel and warm water to tend his neck. "Stop trying to push me away – I'm only here to help you and I'm not going anywhere."

"That's right. You got yourself appointed as my prison guard."

At his harsh tone, Hermione turned around nearly spilling all the warm water on the floor. "I did not – I am not your prison guard!"

"No, only my Protective Custody Monitor," he snarled.

Hermione approached him, setting the water down and regarding him thoughtfully. "According to the Ministry – yes. However, I didn't ask for that, and I don't think you need a guard or Protective Custody Monitor. So let's redefine things our way."

"Excuse me?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Hermione reached up to undo his bandage and he pulled away from her. "Look, for now I'm your ex-student and Healer. When you get stronger and don't need me, I'll happily go – no, not like that..." she rambled as she tended to his neck. "I mean, I'll help return your home back the way it was, collect my things and leave you. If you need me, you can owl, and I'll come back. I'll probably be at the Burrow for a while until I figure things out, unless I'm allowed to finish my year at Hogwarts... I will need to get my parents at some point and find my own place..."

He watched her, scrutinizing her every word and expression. "And if the Ministry insists?"

"Insists on what?" she asked confused, dropping the dressing in her bowl and reaching for the healing salves. "That I live here with you until your trial? Surely they wouldn't insist on that. I'd simply have to check on you from time to time, and you'll tell me if you plan on taking any long trips."

"That isn't how the Ministry works – they will insist you being here, watching me. The Dark Years War Trials Committee has apparently decided that my internment under your protective services equates as my time served while I'm under criminal investigation. The one Potter is handling. As long as you're watching over me, I get to stay out of Azkaban."

Hermione listened to him as she applied the salves, realizing that his anger had everything to do with Mr. Weasley's letter. Of course... She looked at him as she rewrapped his neck. "If they insist, I'll come back. But on mutual terms."

"Mutual terms? I have consented to having you here until I am able-bodied and don't need your assistance. Now I must concede to having you move in as my custodian. And relinquish my home to you for the duration of Potter's investigation, to be remanded to Azkaban upon its conclusion."

"Move in? Here? As in... live here? I can't do that!" she exclaimed.

Snape made a deep, humorless chuckle as he tried to rise from the bed. "You already have, my dear." He made a big sweep of his arm. "Or haven't you noticed. Fix breakfast please, Miss Granger. I'm hungry."

"This is temporary!" she exclaimed as she poured muesli into a bowl. I can't just move in and live with him! Like... flat mates!

"Eat quickly, you only have fifteen minutes before your potion will need attention," he snapped.

They spent the morning in the potions lab, brewing Snape's healing salves and a few potions for St. Mungo's. Snape was able to assist with the brewing as long as he stayed on the stool Hermione had conjured for him. He sat in the bend of the worktable, three cauldrons placed within easy reach while still allowing him space to prepare ingredients. He worked on the easier of the potions, but by lunch, they had managed to produce nearly nine potions, all standing on the cooling racks off to one side. The potion Hermione had been working on the last week sat on a low white flame, simmering for another hour until it would be complete. While she found working with him easier than working under his constant observation, the day had been daunting. Even if Hermione could cook more than simply sandwiches and heat soup, she doubted that she'd have the energy.

After lunch, Snape insisted that Hermione take a nap before they began to work on charms, then gave her a list of the charms he would expect her to do. So while he napped peacefully, Hermione spent the hour and a half reading and trying to memorize the charms on Snape's list. When Snape woke and called out for her, she found him waiting at the kitchenette table, ready to begin. Hermione tried to do the charms Snape commanded her to do. However, sitting across the table from him, her mind kept returning to the discussion prior to breakfast.

By dinner, Hermione was frustrated and exhausted, knowing that she'd be up for hours writing out the foot long essays Snape demanded for each spell she'd been unable to achieve.

The one thing that did lift her spirits was the fact that when she changed his dressing before dinner, the wound in his neck was finally beginning to look shades lighter in color and the greyish color had faded to white. In addition, the deep puncture wounds were more defined now that the swelling was going down, and the gash looked like it had closed up some. Hermione no longer needed to help Snape walk now that he had the walker, which made her smile, although she rather missed having him lean on her. She was careful when she checked the wound at midnight, being extra gentle when cleaning it and applying the salves, lest the wound reopen.

~o0o~

Day 17

Arimus flew into the room just about the same time as a snowy barn owl. Both owls carried letters, the one in Arimus' claws addressed to Snape. Within minutes, a Ministry owl flew in the window dropping two letters at her feet and soared out. Hermione untied the letters, from Arimus and the snow owl and carried both owls into the kitchen for treats.

Snape was wide-awake as usual, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Good morning," she said as she handed him his letters. His eyes darkened as he looked at the writing. "Bad news? Or someone you didn't want to hear from."

"The Ministry." She looked up to see him scowling at the envelope. He threw the offending letter on the dish cupboard.

"Aren't you going to open it?" she asked, reading Harry's official letter as she began to check his neck.

"No. I'm sure it's the details of my internment," he replied.

She chose to ignore his waspish comment. "Harry has some questions about what we've been doing here. How you're treating me and questions about the potions."

"Naturally," he said sarcastically. "I suppose you could tell him I've been working you like a house-elf, forcing you to tend to my every whim and brew all my requests for me." Hermione looked at him and raised one eyebrow. "I'm sure he'd love to hear how you've been spending half your days in my lab and the other half in my boudoir."

"You're in a much better mood," she replied, assuming he was joking with her.

"I actually feel better," he replied with a smirk. "He can ask Master Kirkwell about the potions."

She smirked back at him and then smiled when she uncovered his neck. "The wound looks better, too. Look." She handed him a mirror. The skin around the wound was still a rosy pink, and the gash itself still an irritated dark pink, but the overall appearance showed improvement. She finished ministering to his neck and carried the bowl back to the sink. She pulled out the last of the ham, slicing it up to reheat it for breakfast.

"So what are we going to do after breakfast?" she asked as she carried the bowls, plates of ham, muesli and milk to the table on a tray.

"I suppose you want to go shopping or possibly go outside and toss a Quaffle on broomstick," he said, walking to the kitchenette table with his walker.

"Excuse me? I think you have me confused with someone else." Hermione looked up at him in amusement. "I was thinking more along the lines of defensive spells or charms."

"Of course, I'm jesting, Miss Granger. Or don't you have a sense of humor?" His face became very serious as he read his letter. "Master Kirkwell needs more of my potions." He set the letter on the table so Hermione could see the shaky writing. "They require more of twelve we made last week, and the potion you just completed. If you're up to brewing these four, I could possibly make these," he said, pointing to the list as he spoke.

Hermione nodded. "If you think you're up to it?" He raised an eyebrow looking at her. "What about these four," she asked. "They take days to make."

"They are needed as well, so we'll brew them," he stated. He looked up at her and cocked his eyebrow. "Unless you don't think you're up to the challenge?"

If it's like it was working with you yesterday – sure, if you're going to treat me like you did ten days ago... She looked at him as she evaluated his mood. "If you can put the directions on the wall again, coordinating the introductions of the ingredients and steps with markers and arrows, count me in."

"Yes, I can do that," he agreed. "Eat up, I don't want to waste the day."

By lunch, six potions sat simmering on heat pads on the desk, Hermione's four and two of Snape's. The four potions that would take the longest to brew were in a line on the worktable. Snape was concentrating on the potion in the copper cauldron in front of him, carefully dropping in dragon tick thoraxes. Hermione had insisted that he take a break and relax after his second potion, but he'd adamantly refused, eating his sandwich at the desk, then returning to his potions. Hermione sat across the worktable from him, carefully following his directions on the wall as she re-brewed the next two potions. The one in the silver cauldron was much easier the second time around. Nevertheless, Snape still felt the tendency to snap and bark orders about her techniques and caution her occasionally during certain steps.

Just as Hermione finished the second set of potions, Snape looked up at her again. "Pour the potions into large bottles this time, Miss Granger, and send them off with Arimus."

"Sure," she said, looking around at the shelf by the sink where he kept his bottles.

"The glass jars that look like those used for jam preserves. They are quite larger than they look," he said without looking up from his potion as he added in the ground knarl quills.

She found a box of them and carried the jars to the desk. She was amazed that each jar could hold the entire amount from each cauldron. Ten potions sat nestled in the box as she carried it into the kitchen to retrieve Arimus. "I have an errand for you," she said cheerfully. Arimus stretched his wings and landed on her shoulder. "Our self-centered misanthrope wants to cure the ails of the cursed. Feel like a flight?" The owl clicked his beak in a way Hermione perceived to be owl laughter. Hermione cast a Buoyancy Charm on the box and held up the rope handle. Arimus swooped down, grabbed the rope and flew out the open window. Hermione went to the kitchen and cut up the last of the roast in small chunks, adding in vegetables, and placing it all in a pot of water to simmer until dinner.

By dinner, the four complicated potions sat simmering. Four more potions awaited Arimus' return, bottled and boxed to go. Hermione felt exhausted and couldn't wait to jump into the roasting pot tub and wash off the fumes from their busy day.

"You should take a bath," she said as she ate her stew.

"I don't want a bath," he snapped, more from exhaustion than simple irritability.

"You'll feel better," she stated. "You've just spent the entire day leaning over cauldrons! Don't you want to wash off all those fumes?"

He looked up at her, scowling. "What is it with your preoccupation with my cleanliness?"

She looked back at him, trying to mimic his expression. A slight curl of his lip told her she wasn't scowling very well. "What is it with your insistence in being gre... dirty?" she winced at her slip.

His eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter. "I'm not dirty or greasy."

"I wasn't implying..." she implored. "Okay, I was. But you'll feel better."

"I don't like bathing every day." He bent down over his stew as is if to end the conversation. However, with his back held straight by the Spine-Locker Spell, he couldn't lean over his food as he used to in the Great Hall.

Hermione was undaunted by his mood change. "I've noticed! I can only get you in the tub once a week."

"Every three to four days, and it's a roasting pot," he snapped. "I'm not a roast."

"It's what I've got for the time being until you can walk up the stairs to your own loo." Her eyes never left his as she took a bite of stew. After a pause, she added, "I'll wash your hair for you."

"I do not need you to bathe me like a child, Miss Granger," he stated firmly. "I can wash myself."

"I only offered to wash your hair, not your body," she said, picking up a piece of carrot with her spoon. "One would think..."

"I did not! You are not... I can wash myself, thank you!" He stopped when he saw the smirk on her face. "Unless you'd like to, Miss Granger." Her eyes grew large at his invite. "Is that why you are so instant on my taking a bath every other day?"

She dropped her spoon. "I... um... no! I just thought you'd feel better," she stammered.

"You want to have me feel better?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate.

"Disillusioned each time and you know that!" she exclaimed. "Fine! Then I'll just have a soak, and you can do whatever!"

"So, it was an invitation. I don't bathe with students, Miss Granger," he said, his dark eyes boring into her soft brown.

"I wasn't implying that you... and I... together!" Hermione could feel her cheeks burn. "I'm not your student!"

"Really? And the last four days of instruction were – what? An exercise of my patience? Not to mention all the personal tutelage you've received in my potions lab. There are wizards who would pay handsomely for that privilege."

"Okay, yes, your student and personal slave." His eyes narrowed at her choice of words. "Privileged apprentice, Healer and maid... Still, you do need a bath, and I was only suggesting that I fill the tub for you. And all I offered was to wash your hair."

"It's a roasting pot, Miss Granger," he corrected her. "For a very large pot roast."

She couldn't help smile at his remark. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Do you want to use my bubble bath?"

"Don't get cheeky with me." He glared at her and Hermione snickered. "I don't use bubble bath."

"It'll make you feel better," she lightly teased him as she carried her bowl to the sink. "I have lavender and eucalyptus or garden botanicals?" She missed his dark scowl as she set the large kettle on to boil.

Author's Notes: