I'm very sorry this is another short one. I wrote this all months ago and I guess they seemed like natural breaking points.
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“Hate him?” he reflected. “No, Hermione, I don’t hate him. I cared deeply for his mother, Lily. She was my best friend before we came here to Hogwarts. We grew up in the same neighborhood. When we came here, Potter took her from me. Harry had the misfortune of looking like his father. Him, I hated.

“Harry had her eyes, and every time I looked into them I felt the horror of not being able to stop what Voldemort did to her. In my grief, I often wished Harry had died instead of her. Then I would feel the horror of that wish, too. I knew what Harry was destined to do, and I had to protect him. Turning spy for Dumbledore was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and maybe the best thing.”

“It definitely was the best and most noble thing to do. I realized how loyal you were to us all when you stood in front of us when Lupin turned werewolf. You risked your life, even though we had attacked you and left you there to awaken alone.”

“I didn’t think anyone noticed. I was terrified for you.”

“Me? You mean all of us.”

“No, you, Hermione. I may not have known it then, but I saw such potential in you. You’re so intelligent. I truly believe you could be a far better Potions mistress than I will ever be.”

She hugged his arm. “You really think that, really?”

“Yes, you have been amazing with the potions we have worked on.”

“I’m only following instructions. I have not been the creator.”

“Do you realize you have instinctively foreseen my instructions on several occasions? You have an internal instinct for the right course of action. Several times you stirred a potion a certain way or added an ingredient before I could tell you to do so.”

She pulled him to a stop and said, “I have?”

He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Yes, you most definitely have, my apprentice.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll listen harder to your instructions.” She turned away, pulling him back into their walk.

“Hermione, that was not a reprimand. It was a testimony to your brilliance with potions. You instinctively understand what we are doing. Your mind is steps ahead of a potion you have no prior knowledge of. You do not realize what a gift that is.”

They were silent as they entered the castle, and they moved through the cold, dark hallways as quickly as possible. They gave Hogwarts the reverence it deserved as a tomb but felt the seeping blackness chill them to the bone. Being away from the darkness only seemed to make it deeper and more depressing.

When they entered his rooms and barred the door behind them, the lamps and fire seemed to warm them quickly. “We could always move to the Shrieking Shack,” Hermione suggested.

"This is my home,” Severus stated dryly, turning away from her.

She sighed silently. How will I ever get him to leave this place?

They didn’t speak much after that. Both seemed to slip into his or her own thoughts. Severus insisted on unpacking the dinner things and sent her to take her bath. When she returned to the room, she found he had not transformed the couch into a bed. She took her wand out to take care of it.

His voice touched her. “I thought we could share the bed again. You have no idea how cold it can be after the snow.” He was looking at her like a starving child hoping for a piece of bread.

She nodded, swallowing the emotion that threatened to cloud her eyes in tears that might make him withdraw. She crawled into the bed. She would rather be here than any place she could imagine.

Severus turned away without a word, blinking away emotion. He’d felt bad for snapping at her earlier. She’d only given him support and care since she had gotten here. Did she realize what an emotional cripple he was? It was not only his body that had limited response. His emotions had been crippled his whole life. The interactions he had had with Hermione these last days were the closest to a “normal” relationship he’d ever experienced. His father had beaten him and emotionally abused him. His mother had been so abused herself that she had withheld any affection she might have had for him. He believed she was so withdrawn that she had nothing to give. He wondered why she had never defended herself with magic. What would Hermione say if she knew he had killed his own father? It had been to save his mother’s life, but what would she think?

He pushed the thoughts away and completed his bath. The thought of sleeping next to her soothed his soul. When he crawled into the bed behind her, she was already asleep. He pulled her close, and she sighed with pleasure, relaxing against him. That was all he needed to send him into another night of deep sleep.

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Thank you again for all the kind remarks you have made. They keep me going. I'm so glad you like my writing. Thanks again to Lisa who is doing a very good final Beta job. I couldn't do this with out her.

Thank you, Jess, for all your help.