A/N: Sorry for the wait! I'm not too sure why, but writing this chapter moved fairly slow. I hope you all enjoy and are doing well. Please let me know your thoughts, I read everything!

As always, a huge thanks to those that leave reviews, mark this story as a favourite, and follow it.

Chapter 17

It was Thursday 16th May and it had been exactly three weeks since Hermione's parents had vacated for Canada. The previous day she had finally finished sorting through her family home and gathering together everything that hadn't been taken abroad with her parents. Anything that Hermione had determined was junk had been left behind at the property. She figured it was being burned anyway, so there was no need to trouble herself with additional work.

The only loose knot that needed tying up was sorting through any paperwork in her parents' name. She had already taken care of the obvious by writing a letter to their dental practice to inform the other partners that due to unforeseen circumstances they would be moving away. Although she imagined it had been a rather frustrating read for their colleagues, she had no choice but to keep the letter vague in case this information was ever traced by Voldemort's followers.

She was sat at the kitchen table in the safehouse enjoying her morning coffee. The interior decoration of the small cottage was like a time capsule into the 70s – the kitchen being no exception. The countertops and cabinets were a cream laminate, with a garish yellow backsplash separating them. The walls were painted a creamsicle orange, and the flooring was a terracotta tile. The kitchen table was a cheap chipboard imitation of oak, which had been covered with a yellow wipe-clean tablecloth bedecked with tiny white flowers.

The safehouse was in sleepy Alkham, a scenic village not far from Dover. It was surrounded by long stretches of fields, with the nearest shop being a 25-minute walk away. Occasionally Hermione was graced with a dog walker passing through, but generally nobody came this way. It wasn't unusual for her to go days without seeing anybody; her only socialising came in the form of small talk with the cashier at her local grocer.

To take her mind away from her parents, Hermione had decided that today she would work on preparing a proposal for an apprenticeship. Over the last few weeks she had thought about which N.E.W.T subject she would be interested in specialising in. Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration had quickly been dismissed. She enjoyed these subjects because they were practical and she got on well with her professors, but the content didn't fascinate her.

After some careful thought she had determined that taking Ancient Runes was too niche, especially as she didn't fancy a career in translation. Following this, she then ruled out Potions. Whilst she had done a significant amount of brewing for Madam Pomfrey this year, these were all potions that were covered up to N.E.W.T level. She found the practice therapeutic, but she couldn't envision herself becoming a healer or potions mistress.

Hermione was tempted by DADA. Out of all of her options this was where she had done the most further reading, and she already had a rough idea of what she could research for her final essay. Occlumency is a defensive strategy, and in her efforts to learn the basics she already had a prepared foundation to build her studies upon. Unfortunately, this choice was complicated by the fact she did not yet know who she would be pitching a proposal to, and the odds of the appointed professor lasting longer than a year were slim.

The final possibility was Arithmancy. This had been her favourite subject since starting it in her third year, and importantly it led to a diverse range of career paths. It would certainly look impressive on a university application, and its disciplines translated into many branches of magic. It could be a feasible option for her, particularly as she had a good relationship with Professor Vector. The downside was that she was stuck on an idea for an essay on the topic.

Believing it best to keep her options as broad as possible, Hermione decided to begin mapping out proposals for both DADA and Arithmancy. It was still undecided as to which was her preference, but she figured if one choice fell through, then she would have the other to fall back on. There were 7 weeks remaining until she would be able to return to headquarters, meaning there was ample time available for her to build both pitches.

On Tuesday 4th June Hermione was walking in the fields not far from the cottage. Each day she made sure she left the confines of the property in a bid to feel less like a bird in a cage. Getting in some sort of exercise – even if it was just walking for an hour – helped to clear her head, and importantly it gave her another activity to do.

An upside of living in the countryside was that she had the beauty of nature on her doorstep. Hermione's favoured route was decorated with willow trees that delicately scattered the morning sun through their leaves, the fragments bathing the dirt path with its warm glow. Summer had arrived once again, and the rolling landscape was celebrating with cornflower-blue skies and verdant hues.

When she agreed to stay here she had been so preoccupied with obsessing over her parents' safety that she hadn't once considered what it would be like to live in isolation for three months. She couldn't even have the company of Crookshanks, who had been taken by McGonagall to headquarters. It wouldn't have been safe for him to travel back in time with her, so she had no choice but to bid him farewell. At least from his perspective she would only be missing for a few days.

When she had been staying with Mad-Eye the previous summer she had thought herself terribly unlucky. His conversation had been rigid and his routine gruelling, but it had been better than nothing at all. After two months of being by herself she would leap at the chance to be back there right now.

To compensate, she found herself doing purposefully small food shops so they would only last her a couple of days. This way, she had an excuse to walk into the populated part of the village and interact with another person, even if was just an exchange of a few words.

A consequence of living in a village however was that everybody knew each other, and so when locals had realised that she was still here after a few weeks, they started to talk to her so they could get to know her too. Nobody could know who she was, so she caught herself in a balancing act between actively seeking out conversation and withdrawing from it to refrain from revealing more about herself than she ought to.

Her days were generally spent working on her apprenticeship proposals and sorting out the last of her parents' affairs. In the evenings she would curl up by the fireplace with a book. Fortunately, there was a small charity shop in the village centre that sold second-hand books. Hermione had purchased several of them, already reading her eleventh since discovering the shop towards the end of April.

Reading fiction offered her reprieve from the uniformity of her day-to-day life. It allowed her to switch off from thinking about her parents, and the bad way she had left things with Ginny and Ron before coming here.

She hoped that once she returned to 12 Grimmauld Place that a few days of distance would help to dissipate the siblings' frustration and help them to understand her perspective. Although, she could foresee Ronald being trickier to handle than Ginny. Knowing Ron, he was cross because he felt as if he had been pushed to the side-lines. His anger at Harry entering the Triwizard Tournament only showcased his insecurities surrounding this; she figured he would need plenty of time followed by a good heart-to-heart in order to forgive her.

Every so often Hermione's thoughts would travel back to Snape. Up until her injuries, she had spent the past year seeing him privately numerous times each week. Since frequenting his rooms, it wasn't uncommon for them to spend hours together in the evenings. Sometimes they would just sit in companionable silence focusing on their own thing, other times they would lose track of time entirely simply talking to one another.

His absence had stung during her two-week stint in the Hospital Wing, and that was with the distraction of still seeing her friends daily. Spending two months in near isolation had only served to exacerbate her longing for his company. She never would have anticipated that time spent apart from him would feel this jarring. Her loneliest evenings were occupied with thoughts of him and a bottle of cheap wine.

Her mind would drift to their last goodbye, and how nice it had felt to be brought closer into his chest. Or, the way he had held her the night when she had fallen asleep in his arms. Both times had soothed her in a way she couldn't articulate. It wasn't unusual for her to hug her male friends, but touching Harry and Ron had never made her feel this way.

A small part of her feared that her feelings towards him may not be entirely platonic. Her rational side reasoned that she was just overthinking everything in her boredom, and once she returned to headquarters her thoughts would revert to normality.

Hermione couldn't help but feel flattered that he had specially mixed a cream that would help treat her scar. Dumbledore would have always asked him to aid in healing her, and so regardless of their relationship he would have removed the dark magic from her wound and brewed potions on her behalf. The cream, however, was something he had chosen to do of his own volition.

Snape had a reputation for being callous and uncaring. For years she had been on the receiving end of his scathing words in his classroom to know that this wasn't an entirely undeserved reputation, but underneath the surface was a gentleness that she never could have anticipated. It was reserved, but it was most certainly there.

He had been the only one to work out something was happening with her, and he had been respectful enough to allow her to tell him at her own pace. He was always quick to notice if something was bothering her, and each time found a way to make things better – even if the solution was as straightforward as just cheering her up.

A few days ago, she had finished the last of the cream. It had worked much better than she had anticipated too; the deep pink had faded to a milky white and the ridges of the cicatrix had flattened, now barely raised from the surrounding healthy skin. She had cleaned any residue from the indigo glass of the apothecary jar, choosing to keep hold of it. The sentimental value she had attached to it was foolish but acknowledging it did little to change the way she felt.

It was Sunday 30th June at approximately 9:30pm and Hermione was sat cross-legged in her neighbour's garden, disillusioned and facing her parents' house. Tonight, her family home would be burned down by Death Eaters.

She had lived here since she was three years old. Her early childhood had been manufactured here. This was where she had baked cakes as a little girl with her mother, planted vegetables in the garden with her father, learned how to ride a bike, and had her first piano lessons. She had memories of crafting a swing with the aid of her parents out of some rope and wood, fastening it to an old tree in their garden. It was here that her growth to adulthood had been charted, her father etching each changing milestone in height into the wooden doorframe of her bedroom using a pen knife. Celebrations had been enjoyed here, from birthdays to Christmases laughter had echoed throughout the walls of this home.

Cold logic had told her not to come tonight. Her presence here placed significant, unnecessary risk onto herself. However, staying behind in the cottage as Death Eaters lit up her childhood home – snatching it from her – would have felt like a betrayal to herself. In the end, she had no choice but to side with her heart. Knowing that it would be the events of tonight that would act as the catalyst to needing to tamper with her parents' memories only served to add insult to injury.

She was relying on the darkness to camouflage the tell-tale glimmer of the disillusionment charm, hoping that Voldemort's followers would be too preoccupied with finding her parents to notice anything suspicious.

The distinctive crack of apparition announced their arrival. Five cloaked men had materialised in the centre of her street, only a few meters away from where she was sitting. As they surveyed their surroundings she noticed that two men were wearing silver masks, two were wearing gold, and one was wearing a simple black mask. A sign of their ranking perhaps, Hermione thought to herself. All the Death Eaters she had fought in the ministry had worn golden masks. Since, she had learned that they were all members of Voldemort's inner circle.

Once they had determined that they were alone, they marched straight towards her home. One silver-masked man blasted her door open, knocking it clean off its hinges. Hermione watched as four of them entered, leaving the black-masked man to hover in her front garden. He appeared to be keeping a look out.

It hadn't escaped Hermione that one of these men would be Snape. This would be the first time she would see him presented as a Death Eater. Whilst she couldn't imagine any circumstance where she would wish to witness such a thing, she hated that it had to be this.

Without a watch to keep track of time, she could only estimate how long she waited there. It felt like she had been watching the black-masked man pace restlessly for around 20 minutes. She imagined the men inside were beside themselves at the realisation her parents were not there, and that they would have to feedback this to their master.

Eventually three men walked out of her house – two silver-masked and one golden-masked. The golden-masked man who was portly and short in stature made a beeline for the black-masked man.

"Did you let anyone get passed you?" He snarled, roughly grabbing him by the collar.

The black-masked man nervously stammered an answer, but it was too quiet for Hermione to hear. She watched as the golden-masked man threw him to the ground, drew his wand, and cast the killing curse in a fit of anger.

The two silver-masked men were standing only a couple of feet away from the doorway to her home. One stood stiffly with his arms crossed, barely moving an inch. His comrade's demeanour juxtaposed his own, however. This man kept fidgeting, anxiously rocking his weight back and forth on his heels. Hermione found vindictive satisfaction in watching him squirm, relishing in the knowledge that with the help of the Order she had outsmarted them.

It was then that the second golden-masked man stepped out of her house. He was tall and lean, and Hermione realised with a sinking feeling that this was almost certainly Snape. His posture was straight, and he walked with a commanding grace.

"What do we do now?" The twitchy silver-masked man asked.

"Send word to the Dark Lord about what happened here tonight. Explain there has been a miscalculation - our time has been wasted." The tall golden-masked man drawled. Definitely Snape, Hermione thought to herself as she recognised his voice. "Oh, and take your mess with you Goyle." He ordered, acknowledging the dead man on her front lawn.

"And what will you do, Snape?" The other silver-masked man asked.

"I'll burn this filthy hovel to the ground." He sneered.

Hermione's chest tightened. It's just an act, that's not him, she told herself as she closed her eyes. She only opened them again when she heard the sound of the men apparating away. She looked on helplessly as Snape procured flames from the tip of his wand. He expertly wielded them across the brickwork, the heat smashing the windows and the fire spreading inside. The force of the incantation caused a flume of fire to break through a side window, clouds of billowing black smoke following in its wake.

Even for wizards, fire was notoriously difficult to maintain control of, and yet his performance made it look effortless. She may have even marvelled at his prowess if he wasn't responsible for the conflagration devouring her home.

Carefully, she stood from her hiding spot and crept forward to cross the street. Her morbid curiosity demanded she took a closer look, but she didn't want to alert him to her presence.

He stood proud as he commanded his magic. His posture was tight in a manner that Hermione thought wasn't dissimilar to a coiled snake ready to strike its target. Dressed in a black tunic, a hooded black cloak, and an ornate serpentine mask he looked every part the foreboding Death Eater. It was disquieting to think this was the same man she had embraced mere months ago, who had held her tightly as she said her goodbyes.

She watched in intrigue as he willed the blaze to calm. The fading embers revealed a husk of a building that was a mere shadow of what it had meant to her. The memories it had held of her youth were meaningless in the face of the burning heat that had licked its structure to ruins. There was a gentle crackling as sparks of light danced in the night sky, the soft glow lazily fading into nothing.

A sharp pang of grief hit her, constricting her gut painfully. She chanced one last look at Snape, who's wand arm now rested at his side. They all had their part to play in this war, and this was his. It's not him. Not really, she told herself for the second time that night, as tears freely rolled down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she knew it was time to leave. With a pop, she apparated away to the confines of the Alkham cottage.

At last, Hermione was back at 12 Grimmauld Place. It was Friday 5th July, and she had arrived back at headquarters the previous day. Despite how much she had been looking forward to returning, it had felt strange being back.

Where she had been eager to see her friends again, they had been indifferent. Not that it was their fault – what had been three months for her had been a mere three days for them. She knew it was unreasonable to expect Ron and Ginny to be delighted to see her, but their icy reception had been hurtful.

Ron had been the worst. He wouldn't even look at her, let alone entertain talking to her. When she had arrived, he hadn't even verbalised his greeting, instead settling for pressing his lips together in a vague impression of a smile. Ginny had at least been civil towards her. She had spoken to her during meals, although the conversation had been a little strained.

Thankfully, Harry had welcomed her in a hug, swiftly pulling her aside to be filled in on her time away. Whilst seeing each other wasn't the novelty for him that it was for her, he had still been interested in her life. They had spent a long time talking about her decision to use a memory charm on her parents, and the long-term complications of her choices.

Unexpectedly, she had found on her arrival that she would no longer be sharing a bedroom with Ginny. Instead, a room on the third floor of the house had been given to her. This was the only bedroom on this floor, with the only other room being a small bathroom. As it was isolated from the other rooms it hadn't been used much since the house had been repurposed as a base for headquarters. Consequently, Hermione had needed to spend a bit of time yesterday removing the layer of dust that had coated the room before unpacking her belongings.

Sorting through all she had carried with her had taken a bit of thought. Almost everything she had brought had a shrinking charm on it, as not only had she needed to bring her own things, but also those of her parents. It had taken a couple of hours to methodically sort out what needed to remain shrunk in storage, and what needed to be returned to its original size.

Prior to arriving, Hermione had not fully considered what perception other people in the Order may now have of her. In the little time she had been back, she had caught Molly, Arthur, Sirius, and Fred and George all staring at her on several occasions.

Sirius had been the only one to acknowledge her situation, explaining that it was only reasonable to give her a bedroom of her own now that she was an adult and would be living with him for the foreseeable future. Since her parents had left and her home had been burned down, she was essentially homeless. Headquarters was now her only residence.

Fred and George had barely behaved any differently towards her. Although, she had expected them to make some sort of quip about her time-turning, but evidently they didn't feel comfortable yet. Molly and Arthur had been especially cordial towards her in a manner that was abnormal. Molly often wore an expression of pity when looking at Hermione, a habit she desperately wished the older woman would abandon.

It was clear they didn't feel ready to speak about the elephant in the room, and Hermione supposed she wasn't ready to discuss it either. Where it had been a relief to open up to her friends, she didn't know how to address it with people that she knew but wasn't particularly close with.

Today, Hermione had decided that she would try her best to mend the relationship between her and Ginny by apologising. She had gauged that everything was still too raw for Ron for it to be worthwhile pulling him aside, but Ginny was more level-headed than her brother. After dinner she had asked the redhead if she could talk to her, and now the two girls were sat on the end of Ginny's bed in what was once their shared bedroom.

"I know you're still upset with me, but I want to try and explain my reasoning for not telling you sooner. I really don't want this to come between us." Hermione said, biting her lip anxiously.

Ginny sighed, "I'm not as hurt as I was the other day. I've been thinking about it since, trying to figure out what I would have done if I'd been in your position. I guess I just want to know why you felt as if you couldn't talk to us."

"I trusted Dumbledore's judgement. If I ever questioned what he asked of me, he would find a way to make me feel ungrateful or naïve for doing so. I know I need to take some accountability for my own choices, but I truly thought what I was doing was right. I didn't want to risk losing what he was offering me by rejecting his rules."

Ginny nodded. "We all want to help in some way. I understand why you would agree to everything, I just wish you had felt comfortable enough to trust us. You know I would never go behind your back and spread your secrets, right?"

"If I thought otherwise then I don't suppose I'd be friends with you." Hermione answered. Breathing in she continued, "It's just difficult to make that leap of faith, especially when you're being told that it would be reckless to do so. There was a lot that I told you on Monday that Harry didn't know either. He went a long time not knowing my age, and I didn't tell him about my own occlumency lessons, or my induction into the Order. I'd gotten so used to lying that I guess it started to feel natural. I didn't think about what it would be like if my role had been reversed, and one of you had done what I had chosen to do." She winced.

"It must have been a lot to keep to yourself. I'm awful with secrets, I don't think I could have done it." Ginny forced a chuckle, trying to lighten the severity of the conversation.

"I wish I hadn't started using the time-turner if I'm honest with you. This whole thing… it's been like falling down the rabbit hole." Hermione said, fidgeting with her hands.

"The 'rabbit hole'?" Ginny asked, confused.

"Oh, sorry. Muggle expression." Hermione explained, forgetting her audience. "It means I accidentally found myself in a situation that was more than I bargained for. The saying is based on a children's book."

"Well, at least you don't need to keep any of this to yourself anymore. Can you tell me more about it?" Ginny smiled, moving closer to Hermione.

The girls talked for hours. At first Hermione explained that she felt disconnected from those around her, that the difference in her age complicated her relationships and her reality. She spoke about why that lead to her asking to graduate early and went on to mention the possibility of her taking an apprenticeship.

She caught up with Ginny, and what had been going on in her life in the last year. Ginny cried about her break-up with Michael, and how it had hurt to see him move on with Cho so quickly. Hermione apologised for being absent as a friend and reassured her that she was too good for him anyway.

They went on to talk about Hermione's last three months, and her stay in the cottage. Ginny expressed how sorry she was that she had to go through everything with her parents by herself.

In fact, the girls chatted until it was well past midnight, only deciding that it was time to stop when Ginny was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Thanks for this – letting me talk about everything." Hermione said, now standing by the bedroom door.

"Don't thank me. I'm always here if you need to get something off your chest." Ginny said sleepily, lazily rubbing her eye. "I'm sorry I was so quick to judge… I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

"It's okay. It's… a lot, I know. I shouldn't have waited until you were about to leave to start confessing everything." Hermione conceded.

The two girls bid each other a goodnight, and Hermione soon found herself standing in the hallway outside Ginny's bedroom. After talking for so long, her throat felt dry. Before heading to bed, she decided that she would go down to the kitchen to take a glass of water up with her.

As she walked down the stairs, she noticed that a warm glow was surrounding the perimeter of the closed kitchen door. The light had been left on. This was unusual as Molly and Arthur would typically go to bed early, and if Sirius stayed up he would normally sit in the drawing room.

As she approached the door, she heard a popping noise that indicated someone had just apparated. Whether that was to arrive or leave, she did not know. Tentatively she knocked on the wooden door, not wishing to barge in on whoever may be inside.

As soon as Albus left, Severus scrubbed his hands roughly over his face as he slumped back into one of 12 Grimmauld Place's kitchen chairs. Having just had his weekly briefing with Dumbledore following his attendance at the latest Death Eater meeting, he was exhausted.

The intensity of the last couple of weeks had taken it out of him. Both of his masters were highly charged from the aftermath of the Ministry battle. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord were both trying to manoeuvre the situation to their benefit, and it was wearisome trying to keep up.

Behind the scenes at the Ministry Dumbledore was insisting that the prolific gathering of Death Eaters was evidence that You-Know-Who was back at large, whereas the Dark Lord had his Ministry cronies arguing that it did no such thing. He had them accuse Dumbledore of attempting to politicise the 'tragic' one-off resurgence of Death Eaters, and that as they had all now been incarcerated the threat was mute.

The excuse had been that the followers had grouped together in an act of defiance to mark 15 years since their leader had perished, and their foolhardy behaviour had thankfully led to their easy arrest. Afterall, it wasn't unheard of for small pockets of Death Eaters to assemble, as evidenced during the Quidditch World Cup.

The spin was not dissimilar to the claims that had surrounded Dumbledore for the past year; he was a paranoid old man who was well past his prime.

The Death Eaters were strategizing how they could take more control of the political climate and find more discreet ways of exercising their dominance. The Dark Lord was confident that he had the upper hand as his return was yet to be proved. He theorised that this time around a steadier, more subtle approach would secure his rise to power.

The inner circle had spent the night brainstorming their next manoeuvre. The most ludicrous suggestion had come from Selwyn who had seriously proposed the Dark Lord use his Ministry contacts to implement a 'marriage law' that would target muggleborns as a means to control them.

The idea was that all muggleborns would be forced to marry a half or pureblood. The law would be promoted as a celebration of muggleborns aligning with wizardkind – a direct rebellion to the ideals that Death Eaters promoted. However, the catch would be that any muggleborns that rejected the law would be ostracised from the magical community and their wands would be snapped as punishment for antisocial behaviour. He reasoned that the terms and conditions of the marriage could be made sufficiently unappealing that few half and purebloods would wish to tie themselves down to such an agreement, and subsequently many muggleborns would be forced into living as muggles.

It had shocked Severus that the Dark Lord had been polite enough to not curse him for such a suggestion – imagine blood purists advocating for mixed marriages with muggleborns. He supposed that the man had only gotten away with it because his master had wanted to hear as many ideas as possible this evening, and so didn't have time to disrupt the session by punishing someone.

Severus was surprised to hear knocking on the kitchen door all of a sudden. He had assumed that those staying in the house would be sleeping at this hour, but he supposed it wasn't beyond reason that someone could still be awake.

"Come in if you must." He said languidly, very much hoping that he wouldn't be graced with the distasteful presence of Black tonight. There was only so much he could endure in one evening.

The door slowly opened to reveal Granger, who greeted him with a beaming smile that showcased her perfectly aligned, white teeth.

She softly closed the door behind her before saying, "I didn't expect to see you here."

It struck Severus that he couldn't remember the last time someone looked at him the way she was looking at him now. Perhaps her happiness only stood out in its disparity to the bleak evening that had been bestowed upon him, but it could very well have been years since someone had exhibited such cheer as a consequence of being in his company.

He was so taken aback by seeing her that he hadn't realised he was yet to reply.

"Well, are you going to say something?" She asked, her smile faltering.

"Sorry, forgive me." He shook his head, "I didn't expect to see you either." Frowning, he stood up from his seat.

"I just came to get a glass of water before bed, I won't be long." She said as she walked towards a cabinet.

She looked different, he noticed. The changes weren't drastic - it would only have been a few months since she had last seen him. Her skin was more tanned however, and her frame slightly fuller in a way that flattered her. He hadn't seen her hair like this either; normally she tied it up out of the way, but today she had worn it down, the curly tendrils delicately framing her face. He hadn't been aware of just how long it was before, the length falling just shy of her waist.

Whilst her appearance wasn't something he often thought about, it hadn't escaped his attention that she had blossomed into a desirable young woman. His breath hitched as he watched her petite form stretch to reach a glass from the highest shelf, the action causing the hem of her dress to rise daringly close to the alluring curve of her arse.

Forcing himself to regain his composure, he spoke, "Let me get that for you." In a few long strides he was soon behind her and was able to easily reach the glass that was just out of her grasp. Handing it to her, he smirked, "You know, you do have magic that could make fetching things a lot easier for you."

"I think I forget sometimes. It's easy to fall into muggle habits. Thank you." She smiled, her fingers brushing his as she took the glass from him.

"How was your trip? I trust your parents are safe?" He asked.

"Yes. Everything went to plan, luckily." She answered, biting her lip in thought. "The last few months have been a little lonely, but that's over now. It's actually taken a bit of adjustment having so many people to talk to suddenly." She chuckled.

"You had your parents to talk to, did you not?"

"It's a little complicated. I haven't been able to speak to them since the end of March. I've been by myself until I came back here yesterday." She shrugged.

"That's a long time to be alone." He said, brows knitting together. "Where did you stay?"

"In one of the Order safehouses. It wasn't all terrible, I managed to make some good headway on work I needed to do." She answered, turning from him to walk towards the sink. Filling her glass with water, she continued, "If you're curious, I can explain everything some other time. It's a little longwinded to go into at this time of night."

"I'd like that." Severus said. When she turned back around to face him, he cocked his head to the side in thought. "How peculiar it is to think it's been three months since you last saw me, but you were in my office only yesterday."

She hummed in agreement. "Yes, that's one word for it. At this point I'm used to being out of sync to those around me, but it takes a few days to settle in when I'm months out."

"You make it sound like you've done this before?" Severus asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I had a similar situation last summer. My friends thought we had gone a month without seeing each other, when for me it had been five. August gets really tedious when you've got to live through it three times." She said wryly.

"We can add that to the list of things you're going to tell me more about." He said, blinking rapidly in disbelief.

Granger went to speak but stopped herself.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Is it… is it wrong to tell you that I missed you?" She asked, biting her lip once again.

Without warning, the feeling of gaiety washed over him at her admission. Smiling, he took a couple of steps closer to her and softly said, "Not at all."

She moved towards him, leaving only a distance of two feet between them. He watched as her eyes flickered over his body. "It's odd seeing you wear casual clothing. I'm so used to seeing you in a shirt or your teaching robes." She remarked.

He was wearing a dark grey long-sleeved cotton t-shirt tucked into his usual black trousers. It was something he had thrown on with little thought after his earlier meeting, not wishing to remain in his Death Eater tunic any longer than necessary.

"Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of Hogwarts." He said drily, raising his eyebrows. Nothing in her eyes suggested she was mocking him, but he couldn't help but feel self-conscious underneath her appraisal.

"Apparently so." She said, taking a sip of her water. "You're not one of the teachers that stay there year-round then?"

"No, I have my own house. I think I'd lose my mind if I stayed there for the entirety of the year."

"Will I ever see it?" She asked, her question taking him by surprise.

"I've… well, I've never really thought about that before." He frowned.

"I was just curious; it doesn't really matter." She said, shrugging her shoulders. "Anyway, I should be heading to bed."

"I'm sorry to have kept you up." He apologised.

"I'm glad you did." She smiled, "Goodnight Snape."

Without thinking he replied, "Severus. When it's just us, you should call me Severus."

Her smile broadened into a grin, "Only if you agree to call me Hermione."

"Of course, Hermione. Goodnight." He said, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

It was remarkable to him that after such a joyless evening that it only took a short conversation with her to raise his spirits; her presence was a comfort he couldn't quite explain. It was refreshing to hear someone admit they missed him and for it not to be disingenuous. It did not escape him that many of his 'friends' determined his value by how useful he was to them, but Granger – no, Hermione – was happy to have him around regardless of what he could or couldn't give her.