This story is for the SPEW Anniversary challenge on MNff. The requirements were:

+ It must be the first Anniversary.
+ The people must have been friends at some point - either in the past, the present, or both.
+ If a story, the response must reflect somehow on the changes of the past year.

Thank you to my two bootayful Beta readers: Neta and Bridget *gives them a turnip each*
~*~

Severus Snape’s expression soured even more as he trudged up the lawn towards the great, but abandoned, castle. The last time he had followed this path had been in the opposite direction, determined to escape the aggressive spells thrown at him by an only slightly adept adolescent. Everything in his vision reminded him of that night. His surroundings encased him, constricting him despite the open space. Compelled to walk straight forward towards the great oak door, Snape’s heartstrings attempted to pull him off course. A part of him wanted to lament the day, exactly one year ago, when he fought the most courageous battle he’d ever been forced to fight. It was deemed a cowardly act, killing Dumbledore, such an ironic judgement from the Wizarding World. Severus was still paying the price both emotionally and physically. There was no point in playing the innocent sufferer now, and Severus knew that, because with his departure from Hogwarts came the loss of his role as a spy. Now he was a Death Eater, doing the same immoral actions as any of his companions. He was no longer feeding information back to the Order, nor was he receiving reassuring words from the likes of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. He was a terrorist, worth less than a house-elf in the Ministry’s eyes, and Snape reminded himself of that fact daily. One day, he would inevitably be captured and thrown into Azkaban, or worse. He lived with the hope of that day not being the present one.

Black eyes glinted in response to the moon’s gentle beams, filled with sorrow as they restlessly scanned the local area. In the distance a monument shone, made of pristine white marble with radiance all its own. Itching feet attempted to move towards the tomb, but Severus quickly forced them back on the path, cursing himself for getting too distracted. Emotions were useless in this type of situation. All he needed to do was come, collect what he needed, and leave. There was no point in visiting every corner of the castle and reminiscing on safer times. Why should he sympathize with the country’s current state when they had nothing but abhorrence for him? He kept this spiteful thought in his mind as he continued to march forwards. The castle loomed over him in a threatening manner; behind the glass panes of the windows there was darkness rather than flickering candlelight. Sinister shadows crept up the walls from the trees behind him, and he felt like the aura of this sacred landmark was caging him completely. It was warning him that he shouldn’t be here. Hogwarts was founded on good magic, and he was now corrupted.

The old oak door scraped against the stone floor, letting out a heart-wrenching screech of objection. Clearly, it wasn’t used as often as it had been. Severus wasted no time pondering over the machinery of the door, however, as his body automatically turned towards the dungeons. Having taken the route from the Main Entrance to his teaching quarters daily for nearly twenty years, his body turned unconsciously in the direction he needed to go. In order to rid himself of the emotions that each painting, statue, and classroom brought, he mentally sorted through the different potion ingredients that he needed to collect. Not that he needed to recollect them. They’d been ingrained in his mind since his sixth year at Hogwarts when he had masterfully used them to create a potion before all his other classmates. Severus was used to the corridors down in the dungeons being silent, but never this silent. It unnerved him to think that not one student would be passing by, up to no good with their robes dishevelled, for him to remove points from. He thought he saw the Bloody Baron from a distance, but it happened to be a ray of light cast by the moonlight, a mere illusion.

A scurrying sound could be heard from around the final bend. Severus cringed at the mental image of a nest of rats feasting on spilt potions and the various dead animals he had just left to stew. Extracting his wand from his robe pocket, he poised himself to set a stunning spell on them should they exist. He jammed the door of his storeroom open; it swung back with such a great velocity that it collided into the shelf behind, which simultaneously began to topple. His attention wasn’t focused on his precious potions for that moment, though; they were boring into the round brown eyes of a slightly buck-toothed creature with strange, unkempt and very bushy hair.

“Stupefy!” he shouted loudly. He kept his wand poised upon his target just in case he needed to use something stronger on this thing.

Severus’ victim had little time for retreat, and so only managed to let out a barely audible squeak before flopping to the ground, lifeless. The storeroom was very dark, and he had forgotten just how far it was from the door to the back wall. The creature was barely visible, hidden behind a black cloak, and Severus wondered how long it had been living in this light-deprived condition. Sparking up his wand, he aimed it down to the floor and was surprised to see that the animal was larger than expected. The ruffle of savage brown hair sprawled out across the floor, concealing its form and features. Severus took a few cautious steps forward and scanned his wand around, shedding more light onto the situation.

Oh God! he exclaimed, realising that the creature was actually human. Crouching down, he used the tip of his wand to move some of the thick locks away from its face. Not just any human, he thought with dismay. Bloody Granger!

Searching her body for any clues as to why she here, he conveniently found one of his potion vials clutched in her left hand. A small whiff told him that the vial contained asphodel, which surprised Severus even more as it was one of the ingredients he had come to search for. Allowing a sly grin to play across his face, he inwardly thanked Hermione for finding it and therefore reducing his time there somewhat. He was tempted to simply leave her there, looking rather pathetic and helpless, finally caught in a mischievous act that would ruin her do-good reputation. But something nagged at him to revive her; perhaps it was his conscience reminding him of her vulnerability, or perhaps the tempting idea of sending her as a gift to his master. Either way, it lifted his wand up and made him perform a revival charm.

Tensing his brow, he watched as Hermione regained consciousness, her eyes moving in and out of focus. At the point when he felt she was about to dose off again, lured by the comforting dark, he shone his wand’s full beam into her eyes. She squinted immediately and curled her back, turning away from him.

“What? Ron, can you stop that please? It really isn’t funny,” she objected sheepishly. She then yawned, like she would any normal day when waking up.

Snape sniggered at her juvenile reaction. “Your boyfriend isn’t home tonight, darling,” he replied insidiously, sarcasm woven into every syllable.

“Huh?” Hermione murmured. She screwed up her eyes with her knuckles, rubbed them vigorously, and then looked back at Snape with bewilderment. His brutally scarred facial features were multiplied. Hermione stared at a disfigured image of a man that was already unattractive, until the many pictures of him moulded into one. Completely disgusted by her inability to control herself, Severus continued to tower over her in hope that she might come to her senses at some point in the near future.

Her eyes grew wide suddenly, and Snape watched as realisation spread across her face. Smirking, he waved the potion vial in front of her at a careful distance where she could try and reach out for it but never grasp it. His ploy was successful, and she did in fact reach out, her small hand clutching hold of nothing but thin air. Now that he had her upon her knees, in a position that looked extremely pitiful, he moved closer to speak.

“Ron isn’t my boyfriend,” she argued, rising up and onto her feet quite sharply.

Thrown for a moment by her abrupt recovery, Snape’s frown deepened and worsened the tension within the storeroom, whilst he conjured up a reasonable response in his mind. “What are you doing in my storeroom?” he asked. He didn’t want to talk about the Weasley runt, but would rather make her feel uncomfortable.

“I am here by permission of Professor Slughorn, who happens to own this sham of a closet,” she remarked, her voice slightly quivering. She turned away quite quickly, her bravery having wavered, and Severus could detect fear in her eyes. Shaking slightly she reached up to one of the shelves and attempted to take a jar. It wasn’t difficult to fear him, as he had once been the most severe professor and then later exposed as a Death Eater, yet it starkly reminded him of how repugnant he was to the world.

“Leave.” Severus took one stride forwards and blocked her access to the shelf. Hermione was too big of a complication to his plans for that day. Whilst it would be advantageous to take her captive, perhaps more useful than the potion he needed to brew, he wasn’t prepared to do that to her. He wasn’t that corrupted just yet.

Hermione froze, her mouth agape, and Severus wondered how long she would just stare at him, wide-eyed and gormless. Not wanting to use force on her, he lifted his wand to give the impression that he would. She reacted immediately but not in the way that he hoped, taking her own wand and poising it in alignment with his.

“Please lower your wand, Miss Granger, and I promise not to harm you,” he said as patiently as he could, whilst knowing that perseverance wasn’t one of his strengths.

“What are you doing here, today of all days?” she asked, disobeying his request.

Quirking his upper-lip, Snape tensed his brow even further and then poised his lips to make a sarcastic response. Something relaxed within him, though, and he decided to be slightly more courteous. “I am here to collect various ingredients for a potion my master needs. He instructed me to come, regardless of the occasion.”

Hermione shuddered at how casually Snape talked about his master. Detecting this shudder, Severus knew that the "cruel to be kind" approach would likely work, and Hermione would obey him so as to avoid grave repercussions. At the same time, anxiety began to pull at him. Hermione and her two best friends were usually inseparable, which meant that Harry was likely to be in the castle, along with his great need for vengeance.

In his moment of distraction, Hermione wiggled out of the confined space Severus had cornered her into. She continued her search, clumsily scanning through the many items because she was unable to appease her nerves. Grasping her shoulder with one hand, Severus silently commanded her to stop; she turned around, looking uneasily at her rival. “I have to collect some potion ingredients, also. This storeroom is as much mine as it is yours. Why can’t we pretend not to have seen one another?”

It was a compromise, a smart compromise, one that Severus would be wise to accept. He was reminded that Hermione was the brains behind Harry’s foolhardy actions; she was the one who held the intelligence in the small group. Yet she was a Gryffindor, and with that came bravery, which wasn’t going to allow her to leave with nothing.

“Where is Potter?” he asked sternly.

“Not here.”

“Clearly. Where is he?” His patience dangled on a fine thread.

“Not in the castle,” she snapped back, defensively. “I am here alone. And no, before you ask, I am not going to tell you his location.”


“Which potion are you intending to brew?” he asked, keeping his tone as mild and disinterested as possible.

“The Draught of the Living Dead.” Her eyes cast down to where an essential ingredient was held in Severus’ hand; noticing her actions, he quickly placed the ingredient into his inner-pocket.

“I need that ingredient,” she persisted.

“So do I,” he replied, passively. “It just so happens that we are here for the exact same ingredients, for the exact same potion.”

Letting out a snort of disbelief, Hermione shuffled her feet closer to him. “Wouldn’t a quick killing curse be more efficient for your task? Why bother sending your victims into a deep slumber, it surely does less harm?” she mocked.

“I don’t intend to kill anyone.”

“Isn’t that a contradictory in terms – a Death Eater not interested in death.”

“You severely misjudge me, Miss Granger, you really do. And I would take yourself off your high horse, seeing as you are friends with a young man who is keen to commit murder.” He leant over her, resting partly on the fragile shelf so that she couldn’t get past. A shimmer of light from his wand illuminated half of his face, pure white like snow, in contrast to the other side that was covered by the night.

“Harry wouldn’t,” she uttered with disbelief.

“Harry would have gladly done the deed the last time I saw him, exactly one year ago.” Severus’ voice was filled with bitterness as he spat these words out, his heart rising in his chest with the venom that came with the memory.

Hermione detected Severus’ wrath, and he wondered whether she would dare test it. She stood firmly with her jaw clenched; she didn’t appear to be backing down anytime soon. “Like you killed Dumbledore, don’t you mean?”

And there it was -- the truth! Hermione laid it out in front of him like a bloody corpse at a murder scene. It was the one truth that Severus had hidden away from for an entire year and the one truth that he needed to finally come to terms with. Involuntarily, he turned his back on the young witch and rested his forehead on the cold stone of the wall. As he closed his eyes, an image of a man with a long silver beard, a blue wizard’s hat and half-moon glasses appeared before him. It was the same image that had haunted his dreams. He opened his eyes to the harsh surface of the wall, in order to escape it; oblivion would be more comforting.

Yet his mouth yearned to speak to her, to confess what he’d been yearning to confess. But his hands twitched with the urge to throttle her, to destroy the vindictive words hidden behind such a virtuous face. After a few moments, the former won out. “Hermione, if I tell you about the events that led up to Dumbledore’s death, will you listen to my reasoning? I won’t clog your mind with too much detail, but provide you with the necessities to make a judgement.”

Time trickled away whilst Hermione made her decision, and Severus indulged in the silence as he waited. His mind was entangled in the web of disaster that had been spun around the Unforgivable Curse. He was doing what he had sworn he wouldn’t do – linger over the events.

“Okay,” she whispered, her consent floating through the air as fragile as the trust that she had in him.

“Do you know what an Unbreakable Vow is, Miss Granger?” She nodded with reluctance. “Well, I made one with Draco Malfoy’s mother for reasons I do not wish to tell, but it ensured that I either help her son kill Dumbledore or do it myself. I did not keep this vow a secret from the headmaster. Quite the contrary: we discussed it at length and he, not I, came to the conclusion that the vow must be fulfilled.”

He had no idea why he had just told her everything, his past year’s worries, in such a small nutshell. The Gryffindor was no longer looking so defiant. Her facial expression was pensive and she was using her logical mind to work out the probability of Severus’ declaration being the truth. But then she did something that he never believed she would do. She looked directly into his eyes, delving deeper than the coal stones that provided a façade. Somewhere it was said that the eyes are the window to a man’s soul, but Severus was certain that Hermione would see only hollowness. It appeared to be taking her quite a while to find that barren place, and Severus became uneasy with the scrutiny.

“I don’t believe you.” The words provided a stab in the heart for Severus; a heart that he had no longer believed existed.

“Fine,” he said, his defence mechanism kicking in. “Be ignorant to the truth. Why should I care?”

The pumping of his heart confirmed that he did care, not that he wanted to admit it to himself. He swept past her and began to search for the wormwood. It aggravated him just how disorderly the shelves had become in the single year that they’d been under Slughorn’s care; two decades with a chronological and organised system, and it had been disrupted completely in one single school year. Somewhat like his masterful role of spy. He kept his mind focused on the search, avoiding Hermione, in hope that this simple, yet strangely painful ordeal would soon be over.

After having fumbled through the shelves awkwardly for five minutes, Severus decided that he needed to cast more light upon the area, and left to find a torch. To his utter irritation, Hermione followed suit, like a puppy that wanted to be fed.

“Get out of my way,” he instructed, sweeping over to the far side of the dungeon. He returned with a torch that shone much brighter than his wand. Placing it into one of the holders on the inside wall of the storeroom, he allowed its rays to shine into every sneaky corner and dodgy concoction.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked, her voice now stronger. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Severus saw a look of determination in her eyes. She wasn’t being malicious, nor was she being doubtful. Having temporarily forgotten her desire for potion ingredients, her attentions were wholly focused on Severus. Curiosity was running through her veins; Severus could see her need for the truth.

Moving cautiously forwards, Severus surveyed her carefully, trying to find a reason why she should trust him. He wasn’t a trustworthy person, and had he been in her shoes, he doubted whether he would believe either. She had no reason to trust him, none whatsoever, but she somehow wanted one.

“Don’t say because Dumbledore did. He was a very wise man in many different ways, but he had too good a nature. His trust was his fatal flaw.” Her voice demanded an answer, one that shone credibility onto Severus’ confession, but he struggled to find one within. He was tempted to lie, but what would that actually achieve? No, he was bound to speak the truth on that one day, if for no other reason than out of respect for his mentor.

“I agree,” he said. Watching as the colour drained from her face, he inwardly jeered at how she wasn’t expecting such a simple response.

She began shuffling her feet and broke eye contact with him. Her eyes dropped to the ground, her hair flopping over her face and shielding her from the tension that she herself had caused. “I don’t understand.”

“I betrayed Dumbledore by making that vow. Instead, I should have dealt with the consequences of not making it, even if it meant refusing to secure my loyalties to the Dark Lord.” He bit his lip with bitterness after lashing out these words, and the self-hatred came gushing back into his heart in large waves.

Silence prevailed, and Severus was pleased that Hermione was taking time to think about it. Studying her puzzled expression, he began to admire her, if only slightly, for allowing him the luxury to explain himself. Only Dumbledore had bothered to spend time with him; only he had bothered to look beyond the symbol burnt onto his left forearm. Never in a million years would Severus have believed that a young witch, a woman even, would give his tale a second thought. Lies were the only type of words spat from a Death Eater’s mouth. Severus had grown tired of that judgement, and his heart pounded slightly faster at the idea of Hermione ignoring precedent.

“If I were to believe you,” she snapped, the word "if" echoing throughout the storeroom, “then what good would it actually do?”

“None whatsoever,” Severus hissed.

Hermione slumped against the stone wall. “So why bother discussing it?”

“Would you rather be kept in the dark? I know that Harry isn’t likely to see this from a constructive, objective perspective, but I respect the fact that you have tried to. Very few people give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Did I say that I had given you the benefit of the doubt?” she fired back, immediately.

Severus retreated, knowing that he had been somewhat presumptuous. Now he was being made to look foolish by the bushy-haired know-it-all of all people! “You needn’t doubt, Miss Granger,” he said, quite softly. “I could provide you with sufficient proof, should you be open to it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t unsettling; it was still intense, but they were no longer trying to our-wit one another. Severus allowed his face to soften. He let the floodgates open, and so the emotion that was previously locked within his heart was allowed to flow through his veins, up and into his eyes. Those black holes that many believed contained nothing but emptiness now had substance. Hermione feared what that substance was at first; such darkness filled his history, surely then there cannot be light deep within? Yet she saw a sparkle, in the form of one glistening tear, like a ray of hope amidst a cavern full of evil. It occurred to her that he may be a human underneath the monstrous burden that was his life. Harry’s perception of him and the severe teacher image that he conveyed might have been a false deception. Like many others in this dangerous time, he might have been hiding his true self from the world. Or at least he had been until now. The emotion he was showing her came from within his soul, and it was pleading to be recognised as such, compelling her to move forwards and discover the truth. She did so, gaining all the knowledge she needed just by looking in his eyes.

“I need not know any more than this,” she whispered.

Those simple words compelled the dark, shadowed figure to step forward into the pool of light in front of Hermione. He held out one skeletal hand to her, shuddering as he realised just how clearly the electric-blue veins showed up in the light. She will never accept my hand; she will fear to look upon it, he chastised himself, brutally reminding himself of his unsavoury appearance. But she surprised him once again by placing her own warm hand upon his; intertwining her fingers with his. They connected on much more than a physical level, and he felt not only her flesh mould into his but also her virtue and truth. He’d repressed the benevolent part of himself for too long; it was time for it to be finally released.

Keeping his hand connected with hers, he crept forwards without a sound, and tilted his head towards hers. She didn’t respond, and the thumping of his heart was telling him how foolish he had been. For one weak moment he had let his guard down, to Potter’s best friend no less, and now the only way to escape it would be to surrender. Severus’ pride would not allow him to surrender. She continued to look deep into his eyes, but he wasn’t sure how to read her expression: was it one of awe or sheer confusion? Either way she wasn’t going to advance farther. What possessed him to believe she would in the first place?

But she did. Quite unexpectedly. Severus was about to turn away once again, when she lurched forward and, before he had chance to draw breath, touched his lips with her own. They were filled with both the passion and naivety of youth; she wanted to venture deeper but was also reluctant to see where the road would take her. Cradling her in his arms, he responded to her every movement in a steady and moderate fashion, and forced himself to make no advancements. He wasn’t used to being touched in such a tender way, after having been told throughout his childhood that he was ugly and ignored throughout the majority of his adulthood. His peers at Hogwarts, both when he was a student and a teacher, were perfectly content with leaving him alone. Now this young woman was so close that if she opened her eyes she could see every scar on his face, she would peer up his abnormally large nose and be disgusted by the greasy locks of hair that were so close to touching her pristine face.

But he felt the pad of her thumb press against one of his hollow cheek bones, and stroke the rubbery surface that he had previously thought untouchable by anyone other than himself. Slowly, he took a step back into the darkness so that the shadows would make his image softer to Hermione’s eyes once she opened them. Objecting slightly to the jolt of movement, Hermione parted her lips from his for a single moment, not moving any other part of her body.

“Come into the light,” she begged. Her voice was persuasive, and Severus found his feet moving forward again.

He didn’t miss the ambiguity in her words either; they were pleading with him to leave the Death Eaters, and to reform his lifestyle. It was something that he had wanted to do ever since he had Apparated from the gates of Hogwarts exactly one year ago, but now he had a much more pertinent reason for acting upon this wish. He had someone who cared about him; someone who was fussed over whether he was alive or dead. It was the spark that lit the fire back in Severus’ heart, and he knew that it was time to make an effort. There was no point in passively resisting the Dark Lord within his own soul if he was going to continue doing his bidding. Severus removed his hand from where he had threaded it into Hermione’s thick, swirling locks of hair and dug deep into his inner pocket. She fidgeted in response, unable to keep her arm securely wrapped around his waist, and let out a small murmur of objection.

“I take from that squirm you just made that you do not want this,” he said teasingly, his lips only millimetres away from hers. He held the small vial up, tossed it carelessly in the air, and caught it effortlessly. Expecting her to snatch it away hastily, he kept a light grip upon it and waited for her to claim it. When she didn’t, he gave her a puzzled look. “You do not want it?”

“Not if by allowing me to have it you get yourself into trouble,” she exclaimed, genuine concern in her tone.

Severus moved his lips to hers, and kissed her lightly so as not to make too much of an advancement. “I would rather you, and your side, have it than mine. Hermione, please understand that it would be futile for me to return to the Wizarding world now; the Ministry would arrest me and, likely without trial, jail me for life.”

“But you spoke of proof?” she said, returning the conversation back to the pivotal point of Hermione’s decision.

His brows knitted and his facial features resumed their normal tense persona. “I would require a Pensieve in order for people to witness my conversation with Dumbledore.”


Slinging her arms around his shoulders, standing on tip toes to reach his lips, Hermione’s body filled with joy. She ceased their embrace with a jubilant smile on her face. “Harry inherited Dumbledore’s,” she said with determination.

“Wait!” he objected sternly. “It isn’t as simple as that…”

“How isn’t it?” she persisted. “If they won’t listen to you then they will listen to me. I can borrow the Pensieve from Harry, like I have done on numerous occasions this past year, and meet you somewhere so that you can provide the memories.”

For a moment he admired her means of clearing his name. They had logic in their simplicity. But Severus had taught himself that the big issues in life were far more complex, and such large risks couldn’t be taken without much more careful thought.

“They won’t listen,” he argued.

Hermione took his face in her hands, ran one hand through his hair and un-knotted some of the clumps that had formed. Her smile was warm and her words so far had been sincere, but Severus felt the need to end this charade before things turned even more complicated and there was a chance that she could be hurt.

“I will make them listen.” Severus could see that she was thinking this through properly, with careful consideration. She had in fact grown up during their year apart and had become much more tactful in the way she approached matters.

“Who?” he asked. “Harry most certainly won’t. And the Ministry will ridicule you for even trying.”

She pursed her lips together and pondered over his question for a moment. “Lupin would listen, he has always been open-minded about you, and he would have the ability to persuade Tonks, an Auror.” Severus rolled his eyes as she mentioned the clumsy young Ministry worker. “Who has enough influence in the Ministry, I believe.”

Still sceptical, Severus pulled Hermione close and let his thoughts linger on her idea. She was right. Lupin had always had a trusting nature, especially in regards to Severus, that likened him to Dumbledore. Hermione wanted to build up a gradual support base for him within the Order and then, hopefully, the Ministry, somewhat as she and her friends had done for Sirius. But Harry adored Sirius, loved him even, whereas he felt nothing but spite for Severus. And it was Harry’s judgement that his fate rested upon at the end of the day; he was the Chosen One, on whom the Wizarding World depended entirely. Severus smirked as he reminded himself of this, knowing just how blind they were. Hermione picked up on this smirk and gave him an inquisitive look that brought him back to their discussion.

“I am not sure about any of this,” he revealed.

“Severus,” she begged, and then blushed at her use of his given name. Shrugging off the embarrassment, she carried on. “Look, all you need to do is meet me somewhere, provide me with the memories and then your job is done. You needn’t come up to the surface again until I have cleared your name.”

“But then everything falls upon you. No, I don’t think I will allow that,” he objected. “Why do this anyway?”

“I am willing to take whatever taunts they wish to throw at me. They know I am not happy with the way in which they are handling things, and so it will come as no surprise to them that I have disobeyed their orders today.” Her words were filled with frustration, towards both Severus and the Order.

“No, what will surprise them is the fact you are willing to defend me, of all people. And you kissed me, Hermione, why did you do that?”

Immediately shrinking away from him, Hermione broke their contact and felt ashamed. Annoyed at himself for demanding such a personal thing from her, he moved closer to reassure her, but she just shrugged him away. “Please, don’t ask me why. It was just an instinctive decision.”

“Is it one that you are happy to live with? Perhaps one that you are willing to pursue?” he pressed, unsure whether or not he wished to know the answer.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, and the passion returned to her eyes. “I am willing to pursue a relationship with you.”

The finality that came with this simple sentence was perfectly clear, but Severus believed his ears were deceiving him. There must be some magic at play, a very cruel trick, because this was too surreal to be true. Yet the touch of her skin, the aroma of her hair and the sweet taste of her lips was the empirical evidence that he needed. It dawned on him that life was really this straightforward, there was nothing more intricate than what was before his eyes, and he allowed himself to believe in her. He’d always been quite put out by how Hermione was willing to comprehend everything with her acute intelligence, a mind that rivalled his own, but now he was willing to allow her to use it for his benefit. Reluctantly he realised that he was being given something to cherish, perhaps as an award for all the hardships he had suffered.

Yet, fate had a cruel clasp onto their lives, and prizes would not be rewarded without hard work. They had still only found one of the ingredients that they coveted, and one ingredient would not a potion make. It took them another two hours to find the missing substances, the wormwood having been stuffed carelessly on the bottom shelf and shoved behind jars of leeches. Severus then proceeded into the classroom and wrote down the instructions for the potion.

Hermione gave him a puzzled look as he handed her the piece of parchment. “I know how to brew this potion.”

“Follow these instructions; you will be able to produce more from the recourses in less time,” he insisted.

“Right,” she responded, and then bit her lip and looked uneasily at him. He had the distinct impression that she wanted him to take the next step forwards.

“Where would you like us to meet, and when?”

“In about a week,” she replied, almost instinctively. She then recoiled and blushed at her eagerness. “I will say I need some more Asphodel, Harry won’t bother to question me about it, and so we can meet back here.”

“Okay, I have no plans for Wednesday,” he persevered, and waited for her to respond.

“I look forward to it.” There was some longing in her voice, and Severus was able to see that she was speaking the truth.

“Just be careful with the Pensieve. They are rather heavy,” he said, sarcasm returning to his voice. She chuckled at his mocking, which pleased him even more. There would be no more nervous glances or insecurity around him, from one good soul at least.

“Until then, Severus,” she said, his name slipping of her tongue with a small amount of confidence.

He held her close and kissed her forehead, a chaste kiss that would keep their affection sealed for one week. Escorting her out of Hogwarts’ grounds, he didn’t speak to her nor want her to speak to him. He was content to just be beside her. A long, lingering kiss followed that held within the promises of the future, and he allowed her to apparate away first with a quick pop.

Scanning his eyes across the whole historical site, Severus was content with the simple fact that he was leaving the grounds as a friend, if not yet a lover, to at least one other person. Of course, she would never replace Dumbledore. But she had renewed his spirit and given him the chance to breathe again, just like his old mentor had so many years ago.