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Severus Snape  

Severus had been attempting to sleep though it was difficult when the quiet of his room was suddenly shattered by the sound of the floo flaring and his father running down the hall. Severus jumped right out of bed and followed. 

As he rushed down the hall to the lounge room he heard her voice and picked up the pace. 

“Hermione?” 

His father, loomed over Hermione, a cricket bat gripped tightly in his hands, poised to strike. Hermione stood frozen, her hands raised defensively, her wand gripped tightly though not pointing at his father, her face pale but resolute. The scene was surreal, like something out of his nightmares. 

“Dad!” Severus barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. He moved forward quickly, putting himself between the two of them. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Tobias turned his glare on Severus, his face contorted with confusion and anger. “She just appeared here out of nowhere! Another one of your freak friends, is she?” 

Severus’s blood boiled at the word  freak . He clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to snap back. “She’s my friend,” he said evenly, his voice trembling only slightly. “She’s not a threat. Put the fucking bat down.” 

Tobias hesitated, his grip on the bat loosening slightly as his gaze flicked back to Hermione, who was still standing her ground despite the obvious tension. After a long moment, he lowered the bat, though his expression remained one of contempt. 

“Get her out of here,” Tobias growled, his voice low and venomous. He shoved the bat against the wall and stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath as he disappeared down the hall. 

As soon as Tobias was out of sight, Severus turned to Hermione, his face a mixture of shock and concern. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice quiet but no less intense. “Are you out of your mind?” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione blurted, her voice trembling as she looked down, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. “You were the first person I thought of.” 

Severus’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What happened?” His voice softened slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained. 

Her lips quivered as she forced herself to speak. “Greyback,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “He… he was in my room. I woke up, and he was just… there.” 

The words hung in the air like a curse, and Severus felt the blood drain from his face. For a moment, his mind raced, unable to process the enormity of what she’d just said. “He was in your room?” he repeated, his voice trembling with quiet fury. “Did he—did he hurt you?” 

“No,” Hermione said quickly, shaking her head. “He didn’t touch me. But… he was so close, Sev. I’ve never felt so—” her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes. 

Without hesitation, Severus closed the space between them, his arms wrapping around her in a firm but protective embrace. Her arms circled his waist, and she clung to him as if he were her anchor in a storm. He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, his heart pounding in his chest as her quiet sobs reached his ears. 

“He won’t come near you again,” he murmured, his voice low and fierce. “I won’t let him.” 

Hermione’s grip on him tightened. “How can you stop him? You know what he is, what he’s capable of.” 

“I’ll find a way,” Severus said firmly, though the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “You’re safe here. For now, just breathe, alright?” 

She nodded shakily, her tears glistening but her breathing steadying under his calm presence. Without hesitation, he reached for her trunk, gripping it firmly in one hand while keeping her other hand clasped gently in his. “Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “You can sleep in my room tonight.”  

He led her through the dimly lit hallway to his small room. The thought of bringing someone into this space, especially a girl, was a foreign one. Even Lily had never seen it. He’d been too ashamed of the cramped quarters, the peeling wallpaper, the mismatched furniture. But with Hermione, none of that mattered right now. All he wanted was for her to feel safe. 

As they entered, he watched her eyes sweep over his room. It was modest, to say the least—a small desk cluttered with potion notes and an old ink-stained quill, a single bed that was mussed up from him jumping out of it, and a second-hand record player sitting on a wooden crate. His collection of records was stacked beside it, a mix of classic rock and obscure finds from charity shops, the only indulgences he allowed himself outside of books that were filling his shelves to bursting point. 

Severus watched Hermione’s gaze drift around his small room, her fingertips brushing the edge of his desk with an almost reverent touch. “It’s… cosy,” she said finally, her voice quiet and tinged with something that sounded like sincerity. 

Her words made his stomach twist, though he wasn’t sure if it was relief or embarrassment. “It’s not much,” he muttered, his tone defensive despite himself. “Not like the manor, I’m sure.” 

Her response was immediate, soft yet firm. “I don’t care about nice houses.” 

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between them, the weight of it pressing heavily on his chest. She continued to survey the room, her eyes lingering on the sparse furnishings, the stack of books precariously balanced on the desk, and the worn bedding that hardly seemed fit for a guest. 

The room felt impossibly smaller now, with her standing in it. Her presence seemed to fill every corner, leaving him acutely aware of the lack of space and how out of place she seemed in his world even in her pyjamas. The addition of her trunk, placed awkwardly by the wall, only added to the cramped feeling. 

Severus shifted on his feet, the discomfort growing unbearable. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be in the lounge then,” he said abruptly, his voice faltering. He turned to leave, hoping to escape the awkward tension that seemed to be suffocating them both. 

“Severus,” she called softly, stopping him in his tracks. 

He turned back to her, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something unreadable in her expression—an odd mixture of gratitude, guilt, and something deeper that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Thank you,” she said simply, her voice steady but quiet. 

His breath caught. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, looking away quickly. “You… needed a place.” 

But it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t nothing at all, and he knew it. Letting her into his space, his home—it was more than he would have done for anyone else. And yet, here she was, standing in his room, filling it with her presence and making him feel more exposed than he ever had. 

Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. As he walked toward the lounge his mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts. He didn’t know how he was going to handle having her here, so close yet still so out of reach. 

~ 

Hermione Rookwood  

As the door clicked shut, Hermione let out a shaky breath, the tension in her chest finally easing, though only slightly. She didn’t fully understand why she had fled to Severus, but in the heat of the moment, it had felt right. Perhaps it was because he already knew Greyback was staying at her home, or maybe it was the comfort of his presence (or the fact he offered?) —the steady, grounding certainty he seemed to carry when everything else felt like chaos. 

Her gaze wandered around his room, her eyes landing on the quilt draped over his bed. It was patchwork, handmade, with little cauldrons and stars stitched into the fabric. The care and detail in the work struck her; it was clearly made by someone who had deeply cared for him. She wondered who it had been—his mother, perhaps, or a grandmother? The thought tugged at something in her chest. 

With a hesitant sigh, she shifted back and slid under the quilt, pulling it up around her shoulders. It smelled faintly of him—a mix of old books, herbs, and something uniquely Severus. The scent was oddly comforting, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone. The weight of the quilt seemed to press down on her anxiety, dulling the sharp edges of her thoughts. 

Her mind raced as she stared at the ceiling. The events of the evening replayed in her head—the way Greyback had loomed over her, his predatory demeanour, the terrifying moment when she thought she might lose control of the situation. If she hadn’t woken up in time, or if he had taken her wand… the possibilities made her stomach churn. 

And then there was Tom. She couldn’t understand why he had invited Greyback into the manor. Just last summer, he had killed a wolf for merely looking at her the wrong way, for acting in a way he deemed predatory. Back then, she’d thought it was a sign of his twisted form of protection, his way of staking a claim. But now… now, it was as if none of that mattered. Now, it was perfectly acceptable to have a werewolf— that  werewolf—in the house. Greyback, a monster who preyed on children, who wanted to create an army of wolves. It was madness. 

She pulled the quilt tighter around her, as if it could shield her from the horrors of the world outside. Her fingers brushed over the stitching, tracing the shapes of the cauldrons and stars, grounding herself in the small, quiet details of something human, something kind. 

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. The scent of the quilt, the soft rustling of the fabric—it all reminded her of Severus, of the small moments of solace he provided without even realising it. 

~ 

Severus Snape  

The morning light crept into the cramped kitchen as Severus moved about quietly, not wanting to disturb his father, who was still passed out in his room. The smell of stale alcohol lingered in the air, a grim reminder of the night before. He busied himself by filling the kettle and placing it on the stove,searching through the sparse contents of the fridge, hoping against hope to find something halfway decent for Hermione. 

There was nothing. 

Severus sighed heavily, closing the fridge door with a soft thud. The meagre offerings were embarrassing, especially knowing she’d see just how little he had to offer. He hadn’t expected her to just show up in the middle of the night, truthfully. When he’d extended the invitation the day before, it was a genuine attempt to help, but also one he thought he’d have time to prepare for. Time to ensure he could provide her with more than just a grim atmosphere and black tea. 

But here she was, down the hallway in his small, shabby home, and all he could think about was how utterly inadequate it all felt. No wonder she didn’t look at him the way he wanted her to. 

The kettle began to whistle softly, and he quickly pulled it off the heat, pouring two cups of tea. No milk, no sugar. He frowned at the plain chipped mugs, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. His hand tightened around the handle of one cup as the thought crept in unbidden:  Why did she come here?  

“Sev?” Her soft voice broke his thoughts, and he turned to see her standing in the doorway. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her face bare and honest in the morning light. She wore an oversized cardigan over the pyjamas she had arrived in that looked too warm for the season, wrapped tightly around her like armour. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, setting the cups on the table. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the knot of embarrassment in his chest made it come out awkwardly. 

“You didn’t,” she assured him, stepping further into the kitchen. Her eyes swept over the room, taking in its barebones state, but she said nothing. Instead, she moved to the table and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. 

He placed the plain mug of tea in front of her, his stomach twisting as he watched her take it without comment. For a moment, the silence between them was heavy, oppressive. 

Severus sat across from Hermione in the quiet kitchen, the early morning light filtering in through the small window. The sight of her sitting there, holding a chipped mug of tea, felt surreal. She looked out of place in his small, cluttered home—too bright, too vivid for a world as bleak as his. But she was here, and she was safe. That was all that mattered. 

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, the words spilling out before he could stop them. 

Her head snapped up, her brows furrowing in confusion. “For what?” 

“For this,” he gestured vaguely to the room around them, his voice tinged with self-consciousness. “It’s not exactly... welcoming.” 

Hermione’s expression softened, and without hesitation, she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his on the table. “It’s better than home,” she said simply. 

Her words hit him harder than he expected. She wasn’t wrong; the idea of her being trapped in that manor with that beast—the thought of what could have happened to her—had haunted him all night. He swallowed thickly and turned his hand over to clasp hers, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. 

She squeezed his hand in return, then released it to cradle the mug in both hands. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I’ll be fine. Nothing terrible happened... not really.” Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, but she pressed on. “I woke up, and he was beside my bed. I shot a curse at him but missed. He pounced on top of me, and I managed to hit him in the ribs with another spell. It blasted him off me long enough for me to grab my things and run.” 

His grip tightened on the edge of the table. The image of her being attacked by Greyback—of her having to fend him off alone—made his blood run cold. He wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but all he could manage was a strained, “You’re safe now.” 

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the mug in her hands. “I’m supposed to go to Reg’s this morning for the rest of the break.” 

A pang of disappointment twisted in his chest. Of course, she hadn’t considered his offer from the day before. Why would she? He forced a nod, his voice carefully neutral. “That’s good. You’ll be safe there.” 

Hermione hesitated, as if sensing his disappointment, then sighed. “When I got home from Diagon yesterday, he tried to intimidate me by the floo, but Augustus intervened. I asked if I could come here, but he said no. He said...” she trailed off, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “He said it’s because your father is a Muggle.” 

Severus’s jaw tightened as the sting of Augustus Rookwood’s judgment echoed in his mind. The man’s disdain for Severus’s home—or perhaps just his parentage—wasn’t new it was something he had had to deal with since arriving at Hogwarts, but it cut deep every time. He clenched his fists beneath the table, doing his best to keep his face impassive despite the bitter churn of anger and humiliation in his chest. 

“I don’t care that he is a Muggle,” Hermione said, her voice clear and steady, pulling his attention back to her. “I’ve been around Muggles before.” 

Severus blinked, his surprise evident despite himself. Of all the things he assumed about her—her background, her connections to the Dark Lord—this revelation didn’t fit the puzzle he’d pieced together in his mind. “How?” he asked, his voice low but curious. 

She hesitated, her composure faltering for a brief moment before she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “My family—besides Augustus—was fairly impartial to Muggles,” she said, her tone measured but lacking conviction. “Sometimes we had to be around them. But when they... when they died last summer, that stopped.” 

Her words carried an edge of uncertainty, like a rehearsed line spoken too many times to sound natural anymore. Severus watched her closely, his sharp eyes narrowing. There was something she wasn’t saying, something deeper beneath the surface of her words. 

He tilted his head, studying her with a newfound intensity. She looked uncomfortable under his scrutiny, her fingers twitching slightly as they cupped the mug. Not for the first time, Severus realised how much of her was a mystery. She was like a book with the pages glued shut—only the cover visible, and even that designed to mislead. 

“You’re lying,” he said finally, his tone quiet but firm. It wasn’t an accusation so much as an observation, a truth laid bare. 

Her eyes snapped to his, wide with alarm. “What?” she said, the single word sharp, defensive. 

“You’re not impartial to Muggles,” he continued, leaning slightly forward, his voice still soft but insistent. “You’ve spent more time with them than you want anyone to know.” 

Hermione hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Finally, she let out a breath and said, “I… just don’t really care about them.” 

The answer felt hollow, rehearsed, and Severus wasn’t buying it. His expression darkened slightly as he tilted his head. “You should,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a warning. “They’re dangerous. I know that better than anyone.”  

Before Hermione could respond, the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps echoed down the hallway. The hairs on the back of Severus’s neck stood on end, his muscles tensing instinctively. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

His father appeared in the doorway, shirtless, his frame hunched, and his face twisted into a mix of irritation and fatigue. The acrid stench of stale alcohol clung to him, and his bloodshot eyes scanned the room. Severus’s stomach churned at the sight, his mind already calculating how bad this encounter could get. 

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, her body stiffening as if she could shrink into the chair. Her wide eyes betrayed her fear, and Severus hated that she had to see this—hated that she was here at all, in his home, in his life, exposed to the kind of reality he tried to bury deep. 

“She’s still here?” Tobias slurred, his voice grating, though there was an edge of suspicion that made Severus’s chest tighten. 

“She’s—” Severus began, but his father cut him off with a scoff, stepping further into the room. 

“Doesn’t matter. Thought I told you to keep your weird friends out of my house,” Tobias muttered, his gaze flicking to Hermione with a sneer. “She’s one of them, ain’t she? A freak, like you.” 

Severus stood quickly, his chair scraping against the floor. His hand hovered near his wand, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. “Leave her alone,” he said, his voice cold and steady, though his heart pounded in his chest. 

Tobias smirked, a cruel, humourless expression. “What’re you gonna do, boy? Use your little stick on me?” 

Hermione’s gaze darted between them, her fear evident, but she didn’t speak. Severus stepped in front of her, shielding her from Tobias’s looming presence. 

“Go back to bed, old man,” Severus said, his voice dripping with venom. “Before you embarrass yourself further.” 

Tobias’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it looked like he might lunge at Severus. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh and stumbled back toward the hallway, muttering curses under his breath. 

The oppressive weight of his father's departure hung in the air like a lingering shadow. Severus exhaled shakily, his tense shoulders dropping slightly. He turned back to Hermione, who sat stiffly, her complexion pale, her hands gripping her knees as though trying to keep herself grounded. 

“This is what I mean,” Severus muttered bitterly, breaking the silence. “You should hate them.” His voice was raw, a mix of anger and resignation. He grabbed his tea and downed the rest in a single gulp, the cup clattering slightly as he set it back on the table. 

Hermione didn’t reply immediately. She simply stared at him, her brows knit with concern and something else—pity, perhaps. He hated that look, almost as much as he hated the man who’d made her wear it. 

Severus cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to steady himself. “If you want to grab your things, I’ll show you to the bathroom. Then... I don’t know, we can get breakfast or something. I’ll take you to Reg’s after.” 

Hermione stood slowly, still watching him as though she expected him to shatter. “Sev,” she began, her voice quiet but resolute, “you shouldn’t have to live like this.” 

Her words made his jaw tighten, and he turned his back on her, focusing on the worn wood of the table instead. “It’s fine,” he said tersely, his tone cutting off further discussion. “It’s not like I haven’t dealt with it before.” 

“That doesn’t make it fine,” she countered, stepping closer. He could feel her presence behind him, could sense the weight of her gaze. “You deserve better than this.” 

Her words struck something raw in him, something he wasn’t ready to confront. He turned sharply, his dark eyes meeting hers with a guarded intensity. “What I deserve doesn’t matter, Hermione. This is my life. It’s just the way it is.” 

She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Alright,” she said softly, her voice tinged with reluctance. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

Severus nodded curtly, leading her out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom. As they walked, he felt the tension in his chest loosen just slightly. Hermione’s presence was steadying in a way he didn’t entirely understand, but he was grateful for it, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud. 

~ 

Severus had always known Hermione was beautiful. It wasn’t something he acknowledged aloud, of course, but it was an undeniable fact that had lodged itself in his mind over the months they’d spent together. Her beauty was quiet, elegant—reflected in her sharp mind, her determination, and the way she carried herself, even in the face of adversity. 

But now? Seeing her enter his room in Muggle clothes—tight-fitting jeans that hugged her form and flared out at the bottom in a way her robes never had and a soft, casual shirt tucked into the waist that somehow made her seem more approachable—he was completely thrown. The jeans were familiar, but only in the abstract sense. He’d seen them on the few Muggles he’d crossed paths with in his neighbourhood, but they’d never looked like  this . He felt his throat go dry and had to remind himself to close his mouth before she noticed. 

She looked... radiant, in a way that felt almost unfair. It wasn’t just the clothes; it was how natural she seemed in them. The easy way she moved, the comfort she exuded, as if this version of her was closer to who she truly was than the girl he’d always seen in Hogwarts robes. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, her voice cutting through the haze of his thoughts. 

He blinked, realising he’d been staring too long. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended as he turned his gaze to the floor. He hoped the warmth creeping up his neck wasn’t too obvious. “Just... wasn’t expecting you to come out dressed like that.” 

“Like what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. Her tone wasn’t defensive, just curious as she looked down at herself. 

“Like a... Muggle,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at her outfit. 

“Is this not okay? I thought you lived in a Muggle area?.”  she asked, her voice was questioning as if unsure. 

Severus risked another glance at her, but immediately regretted it. Her damp curls framed her face, falling softly over her shoulders—and the sight of her like this, so relaxed and unguarded, was almost too much. She seemed like an entirely different person, one who wasn’t weighed down by the complications that usually surrounded her. It was disarming, and Severus hated how it made his heart stumble. 

Clearing his throat, he forced his gaze away, busying himself with the stack of books on his desk. “It’s fine... just different,” he muttered, his voice stiffer than he intended. “Where did you even get something like that?” 

Hermione shrugged as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Her movements were fluid, natural, and maddeningly casual. “I exchanged some galleons for Muggle money and went shopping just in case I needed to be in the Muggle world,” she said, her tone light, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. 

Severus kept his back to her, pretending to straighten his books, though he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the pretence. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. They had agreed to remain friends, to set aside the messy tangle of feelings that had briefly flared between them. He had told himself he could handle it, that he could bury those feelings deep enough to forget them. But moments like this made that impossible. 

Why did she have to look so...  tempting ? Did she know what she was doing to him, sitting there like that, completely at ease? It wasn’t fair. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to use Muggle money,” he said finally, risking another glance her way. This time, he tried to keep his expression neutral, but it was difficult when her presence felt so overwhelming. 

Hermione chuckled softly, leaning back on her hands. “It’s not hard to figure out. Honestly, Sev, sometimes you make Muggles sound like some great mystery.” 

The silence that followed was comfortable, yet charged. Hermione shifted slightly, her movement drawing his gaze despite himself. She caught his eyes this time, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to hum. 

“So….” she said, looking away from him, her cheeks going slightly red.   

Severus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. She had a way of disarming him, breaking through his carefully constructed walls without even trying. And he hated how much he didn’t mind. 

Severus tried turning his attention back to the book in front of him. His eyes scanned the text, but the words might as well have been in Parseltongue for all the sense they made. His thoughts were entirely elsewhere, caught up in the image of her—barefoot, hair still damp, that soft smile lingering on her lips. 

Why did she have to look so at ease? So utterly... perfect? 

Severus swallowed hard, gripping the edge of his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. Friends. You’re just friends. He repeated the mantra in his head, trying to will away the tension knotting his chest. But when she leaned back on his bed pulling her leg up to put her socks on, the jeans tightening over the back of her legs and arse, he knew resisting his feelings wasn’t just difficult—it was torture. 

“Alright, I’m ready,” she said, her voice light and easy as she got up. She rummaged through her trunk for a moment, pulling out a pair of shoes and slipping them on. Then she slung her bag across her body, the strap resting between her breasts making his throat tighten.  Merlin help me.  

“Right, yes. Let’s go,” he said abruptly, his tone sharper than he intended. He turned quickly, moving toward the door in an attempt to mask his discomfort. 

As they stepped into the hallway, Severus kept his gaze forward, forcing himself to focus on anything but her. The sound of her footsteps beside him, light and unassuming, somehow only heightened his awareness of her presence. She didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil, chatting casually about something he could barely process. He nodded occasionally, responding with a few grunts and monosyllables to keep her from pressing. 

Why had he agreed to this? Why had he suggested they go anywhere together when every moment near her chipped away at his resolve? They had agreed—just friends. He wanted her in his life, even if it meant swallowing his feelings. But seeing her like this, so comfortable around him, made the notion of being  just friends  feel impossible. 

“You’re quiet,” she noted, glancing at him as they walked out the door of the house, closing it softly behind them. 

“Am I?” he deflected, his tone neutral. 

“Yes,” she said with a teasing smile, nudging his arm lightly. “You usually have at least one sarcastic remark by now. Should I be worried?” 

His lips twitched into the faintest of smiles despite himself. “No need to worry. Just... distracted.” 

“By what?” she pressed, tilting her head slightly. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice low. Before she could respond, he quickened his pace slightly, gesturing toward the street ahead. 

Severus walked alongside her, the rhythm of their steps softly punctuating the quiet tension between them. 

He stole a glance at her, his dark eyes flicking over her before quickly darting away. She carried herself with a confidence that always managed to shock him, her bag slung casually across her body. Her crisp blouse was neatly tucked into jeans—jeans that clung in a way that made his throat feel dry and his trousers uncomfortably tight. He forced himself to look ahead, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he tried to push down thoughts he had no business entertaining. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with concern as she glanced sideways at him. 

“Yes,” he replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended. “I told you, I’m fine.” 

She didn’t look convinced, her brows knitting together in that way that always seemed to pierce through his defences. “You don’t seem fine. Did you want to go to Diagon Alley instead?” she offered, her tone soft but insistent. 

He hesitated. The idea was tempting—mostly because if they went to Diagon Alley, she’d likely have to change. The thought brought him a brief, guilty relief from his current discomfort, but practicality won out. They were already halfway to the bakery. Turning around now would be pointless. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “There’s a bakery just up ahead. We can grab a pastry, then get your things, and head to Reg’s.” His voice was steady, but inside, he was mentally berating himself for how flustered he felt. 

Hermione gave him a long look, clearly unconvinced by his act but choosing to let it slide. “Alright,” she said finally, her lips curving into a small smile. 

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Severus noticed how she kept her head lowered, her hair forming a curtain around her face, shielding her expression. Each time he tried to catch a glimpse of her, he was met with only the veil of her curls. 

When they reached the bakery, they stepped inside and placed their orders, each selecting a pastry. Outside, they settled at a small table, the warmth of the sun doing little to thaw the tension between them. For a few moments, neither spoke, the quiet filled only by the occasional rustle of the paper bags as they ate. 

Hermione finished her pastry, wiping her fingers lightly on a napkin, before rummaging through her magically expanded bag. Severus raised an eyebrow as he watched her glance around discreetly to ensure no one was paying attention before she shoved her entire arm into the bag and pulled out their potions textbook. 

"Are you seriously doing homework while out for breakfast?" Severus asked, his tone dry but laced with amusement. 

Hermione glanced up at him briefly, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "No, just making some notes while I think of them," she replied, fishing out a Muggle pen from her bag and flipping the book open to a potion. She jotted down a note in her neat handwriting, then absentmindedly added a tiny whimsical doodle in the margin next to the instructions. 

Severus couldn't help but smirk as he leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of what she'd written. Her doodles had become a familiar sight in her books, little bursts of creativity among her meticulously organized notes. At the beginning of the year, she had scolded him for scribbling in his textbooks, calling it "sacrilege." Now, it seemed she had embraced the habit, and her books were filled with her careful annotations and quirky little sketches. 

"What notes are you making?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He leaned further over the table to peer at the page, genuinely intrigued by whatever epiphany she’d had while eating a pastry. 

"It's about the Wiggenweld Potion," she said, her voice thoughtful as she added another quick note. "I was thinking about how the crushed moly leaves could potentially enhance the restorative properties if they're brewed at a slightly lower temperature. It would make the potion take a bit longer to complete, but the results might be more potent. What do you think?" 

Severus studied her notes, his sharp eyes scanning the lines of text and her neat little diagram. He considered her idea for a moment before nodding slightly. "That could work, though you'd need to balance the temperature carefully. If it's too low, you risk destabilizing the infusion entirely." 

"Exactly," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. "That's why I think adding just a pinch of powdered asphodel at the same stage might stabilize it, even at lower heat. But I wasn’t sure about the timing." 

Severus tilted his head, intrigued by her thought process. "Timing would be critical, but it's an interesting idea. We could try it in the lab next week. Though," he added, his lips quirking into a faint smirk, "I’m not sure Slughorn would appreciate us experimenting with moly leaves in class." 

Hermione laughed softly, closing the book but keeping it on the table. "I think I've already pushed his patience enough this year." 

Severus leaned back in his chair, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "You’re relentless, you know that?" 

"I prefer 'dedicated,'" she corrected with a grin, twirling the pen in her fingers. Severus smiled at her, unable to hide his admiration. She looked so natural in the Muggle world—sitting outside a small bakery, wearing Muggle clothing, and jotting down notes with a Muggle pen as if she belonged to this world entirely. He envied her ease, her ability to transition between worlds with such grace it wasn’t something he expected. 

“Of course you do,” he said with a faint laugh, shaking his head. “When did you want to head back?” 

Despite himself, Severus felt a pang of reluctance. As much as his body ached with a tension he couldn’t ignore, he didn’t want to send her off to Regulus’s house. The idea of her spending time with someone else left an unpleasant twist in his stomach. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she replied, her gaze drifting down the street. Her eyes lit up as she spotted something across the road. “Though I did see a little charity shop down there. I’d love to take a peek before we go.” 

He blinked, caught off guard. “The charity shop?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief. 

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, her excitement genuine. “It had some things in the display that looked interesting.” 

“It probably won’t be open for a while,” he explained, glancing down at his watch. It read just past 8 a.m. “It’ll be a good few hours before the charity shop even thinks about opening.” He raised an eyebrow, wondering if she was simply looking for an excuse to linger. 

“That’s okay,” she said with a small smile, brushing off his concern. “Maybe we could walk around a little. I’ve never been to Cokeworth before.” 

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, brushing the crumbs from his pastry off his trousers. “But I promise you, it’s not the most glamorous place.” 

“That’s okay,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. “You can show me all the  cool  places you go when you’re home.” 

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.  He didn’t really know what she meant by ‘cool’ but the only interesting place he’d ever spent time was the river behind the playground, the one that separated the nicer homes from the less desirable parts of town. Hardly a grand tour of Cokeworth. 

“Well,” he said, a little hesitant but warming to the idea, “I can take you down to the river if you like. It’s nothing special, but it’s peaceful.” 

“That sounds perfect,” she said, her enthusiasm catching him off guard but pleasantly so.   

She quickly stuffed her book and pen back into her bag, rising from the little table they had claimed. Severus pointed down the street, indicating the direction they needed to take to reach the playground and river. They fell into step beside each other, their conversation flowing easily. The awkwardness that had lingered earlier was gone, replaced by a comfortable rhythm that felt natural.   

As they walked, Severus found himself glancing at her more than once, his thoughts wandering. The shock of her modern clothing had faded somewhat, but he couldn’t deny how much he liked the way she looked, for probably the first time in his life he could appreciate what the Muggles were doing.   

When they reached the end of the street, they crossed the road into a small metal playground that opened up to the riverbank. Hermione let out a delighted laugh, her face lighting up as her eyes landed on a set of swings near the edge of the playground.   

Without a word, she rushed over, dropping her bag by one of the posts before plopping herself down on one of the swings. She grinned up at Severus, her eyes sparkling with a childlike excitement that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“You know,” she said, gripping the chains tightly, “I haven’t been on swings in forever.”   

He watched as she pushed herself back with her feet, her legs stretching as far as they could before she lifted them, letting the swing carry her forward. The wind caught her hair, and the sound of her laughter rang out, clear and uninhibited.   

Severus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I think the last time I was on one of those, I was six,” he admitted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the swing set’s post, watching her.   

“Then you’re overdue,” she teased, her voice light as she swung higher. “Come on, Sev. It’s fun!”   

He raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “I think I’ll pass.”   

“Oh, come on,” she said, her grin widening as she dragged her feet along the ground to slow herself. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little swing.”   

“I’m not afraid,” he countered, his tone defensive but playful.   

“Prove it,” she challenged, motioning to the swing beside her.  

He sighed dramatically, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Her mischievous glint was impossible to ignore, and with a shake of his head, he stepped toward the empty swing. Lowering himself onto it, he shifted awkwardly, the metal creaking under his weight. Shooting her a mock glare, he said, “Happy now?” 

“Not yet,” she teased, her laughter bubbling up like a melody. “You actually have to swing.” 

He pushed off the ground tentatively, his long legs making the motion appear uncoordinated at first. The awkwardness of his movements sent Hermione into another fit of giggles, her amusement shining brighter than he’d seen in days. 

He couldn’t help but notice how different her giggle was from her usual laugh—softer, sweeter, like the gentle chime of bells. It caught him off guard, stirring something unexpected within him. 

“See? Not so bad,” she teased as she swung beside him.   

As the minutes passed, Severus found himself relaxing, the simplicity of the moment was nice in a way he hadn’t expected. The wind in his hair, Hermione’s laughter beside him, and the quiet of the park created a bubble of calm that felt rare and precious.   

“You’re right,” he said eventually, his voice soft. “This isn’t so bad.”   

“Told you,” she replied with a satisfied grin, glancing over at him as the swings creaked beneath their playful momentum.   

Their laughter filled the empty playground, a rare melody of levity between them. The gentle rustling of leaves added to the serenity of the moment. Hermione, mid-swing, suddenly leapt off, her feet landing with a soft thud as she grinned triumphantly. She turned and made her way to the nearby slide, her steps light and carefree. 

Severus’s eyes followed her. A faint smile played on his lips, unbidden but undeniable. Despite his effort to refrain from staring, his gaze lingered. The way her jeans hugged her figure as she climbed the slide made it impossible to look away, his thoughts momentarily betraying him. 

At the top of the slide, she turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Bet I can still fly down this like I’m six!” she called, her voice brimming with youthful energy. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed off, zipping down the slide as fast as the worn metal could carry her. 

At the bottom, however, her landing didn’t go as planned. Her feet failed to catch her momentum, and she stumbled forward, tumbling into an ungraceful heap. Severus froze for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or rush to her aid, until he heard her laughter—loud, carefree, and utterly contagious. She lay sprawled on the ground, her limbs splayed out like a fallen star, her shirt untucked and riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of soft looking skin. 

“You’d think I was far too old to fall down at a playground,” she managed between giggles, her face flushed with mirth. 

Severus approached her, shaking his head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on his face. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he said, extending a hand to help her up. 

Hermione grasped his hand, and as he pulled her to her feet, the momentum brought her closer than either of them anticipated. She stumbled into him slightly, her laughter fading into a softer, breathless chuckle. Their eyes locked, the proximity and the unexpected intimacy of the moment stealing the air between them. 

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The warmth of her hand in his lingered, and the faint flush on her cheeks seemed to deepen. Severus’s grip tightened ever so slightly, as though he was anchoring himself to her. 

“You’re hopeless,” Severus muttered, his tone softer now, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement. 

“I suppose I am,” Hermione said with a faint laugh. She stepped back, brushing the dirt off her jeans and adjusting her shirt. Severus caught himself wishing she hadn’t, he had liked seeing more of her. 

“So, you would just hang out here all day?” she asked, glancing around the play area, her curious eyes flitting from the trees to the nearby buildings 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, slightly flustered. He cleared his throat and pointed toward a gentle slope that led down to the riverbank. “There’s a river just over there, if you wanted to take a look.” 

Her face lit up with curiosity, and she nodded. “Sure. Show me.” 

She picked up her bag from beside the swings and followed him down the narrow track, the soft crunch of their footsteps blending with the rustling leaves. He led her to a large tree with sprawling roots that reached out toward the water’s edge. He had spent countless afternoons under this tree, a spot that once felt like solace. Memories of sitting here with Lily bubbled to the surface, but he shoved them down quickly. He didn’t want to think about her. 

“This is it,” he said, gesturing toward the scene with a half-smile, his voice carrying a trace of self-consciousness. “Not much, but it’s quiet.” 

“Quiet is nice,” Hermione said, reaching into her bag. After a bit of rummaging, she pulled out a folded picnic blanket and spread it under the tree, smoothing the edges before sitting down. 

“You came prepared,” Severus remarked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the tree. 

“Always,” she replied, patting the space beside her. “Now come on. Don’t just stand there like a stranger.” 

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to her, the proximity feeling comfortable. They sat in silence for a while, the gentle trickle of the river filling the air. Hermione tilted her head back, letting the morning sunlight dapple across her face through the branches. 

"This is nice," she said softly, her voice tinged with surprise, as if moments of quiet contentment were a rarity for her. Her gaze was fixed on the gentle flow of the river, the sunlight dancing across the ripples like scattered jewels. 

"Yeah, it is," Severus replied, though his eyes weren’t on the river or the lush scenery that surrounded them. He had seen it all countless times before. What captivated him now was her—Hermione, sitting beside him with her hair catching the sunlight in a way that made it impossible to look away. 

He shifted slightly, moving just a bit closer, their legs almost brushing. The subtle distance between them felt unbearable, an invisible barrier he wanted so badly to cross. His heart quickened, his thoughts racing with possibilities. If he were truly honest with himself, he wanted more than the simple connection of their legs. He wanted her—completely, in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. 

The memory of their kiss lingered in his mind, vivid and consuming. He could still feel the press of her lips against his, the way her breath had hitched, the softness of her beneath him. It had ignited something in him—a spark that had quickly grown into a flame, impossible to extinguish. And yet, that moment had also left him reeling, unsure of where he stood.   

He had promised to keep things platonic, to go back to being friends. It seemed easier that way, less complicated. After all, they had only just begun speaking again after the fallout, and he didn’t want to risk pushing her further away. But now, lying on the picnic blanket by the river, with no one else around, the promise felt like a cruel joke.   

Hermione was stretched out beside him, her eyes closed as she basked in the pale sunlight. Her hair fanned out around her head in a wild halo of curls, and the faintest hint of a smile played on her lips. She looked utterly at peace, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, committing the image to memory.   

Did she know what she did to him? He wondered if every move she made was part of some unintentional game, some long, maddening dance designed to send him spiralling. Surely she wasn’t oblivious to the way her mere presence affected him. 

But as she shifted slightly, letting out a contented sigh and tilting her face toward the sunlight, he had to admit that maybe she  was  that oblivious. Hermione wasn’t the type to play games. If anything, she was too straightforward, too genuine for such schemes.   

And yet, that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the way his chest tightened every time she smiled, or the way his pulse quickened when their hands accidentally brushed. He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, trying to remember the promise he’d made.   

But as she turned her head toward him, her eyes fluttering open, meeting his with a warm, questioning gaze, he felt the fragile resolve he’d built start to crumble.   

“Sev?” she asked softly, her voice drawing him out of his thoughts. There was a hint of hesitation, something fragile beneath the surface that made him turn his attention fully to her. 

“Yes?” he responded, his tone gentler than usual. 

“Do you think I could come and visit over the summer?” she asked, her eyes searching his. There was hope in her voice, but it was laced with uncertainty, as though she wasn’t sure if the question was too much. 

Her question caught him off guard. The thought of spending more time with her outside the confines of school was strangely appealing. Yet, the idea of her stepping into his home again made his stomach twist uncomfortably. 

“If you want to,” he said cautiously, trying to mask the unease the thought brought. He quickly added, “But maybe I could visit you instead?” 

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting to the sky before meeting his again. “Maybe you could,” she said softly. Her tone didn’t carry the same enthusiasm as her original question, and he couldn’t help but notice the shift. 

He frowned slightly, wondering at her reluctance. Did she not want him to see her home? Or was it something else? He pushed the thought away. 

As they lapsed into silence, Severus studied her face, searching for any clues to her hesitation. But before he could ask, she offered a small smile, the moment slipping away like sand through his fingers. 

After lounging in companionable silence, they wandered into the small charity shop she had insisted on visiting. Severus trailed behind her as she moved through the cluttered space, his long fingers brushing against the spines of secondhand books as he leaned casually against a shelf. He watched her with a mixture of amusement and bemusement as she tried on an array of absurd hats, grinning at her own reflection and twirling dramatically as if performing for an invisible audience.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was ridiculous—utterly ridiculous—but it was difficult not to be drawn in by her unguarded joy. She flitted between racks of clothing, pulling out the most bizarre items: garishly patterned shirts, oversized coats, and dresses that looked like they belonged in another century. Each one earned some sarcastic remark muttered under his breath, though she seemed immune to his snark.

Then she found it—a worn and faded leather jacket hanging limply on the end of a rack. Her eyes lit up, and she pulled it off the hanger with a triumphant grin. “This is so you, Sev,” she declared, holding it up for him to see as she approached.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the jacket with skepticism. “I don’t think so,” he replied, the ghost of a smile curling his lips.

“Absolutely it is,” she insisted, her grin widening as she thrust the jacket toward him. “Try it on.”

“I’m not—” he started, but before he could finish, she had grabbed one of his arms, tugging it free from the safe confines of his pocket and attempting to maneuver him into the jacket.

“Hermione,” he protested, half exasperated, half amused. He could feel the warmth of her hands against his skin even through the fabric, a sensation that sent an unwelcome but undeniable shiver down his spine. He resisted as long as he could, but her determination was a force of nature.

Finally, he took the jacket from her, trying desperately to banish the thoughts that erupted unbidden in his mind—thoughts of her pulling clothing off him rather than putting more on. His throat tightened slightly, and he forced himself to focus. “Alright,” he muttered, resigning himself to her whim as he shrugged the jacket over his jumper.

Hermione stepped closer, her expression momentarily serious as she adjusted the collar, pulling it out where it had folded in on itself. Her fingers brushed against his neck as she smoothed the fabric, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged, the space too small and too significant all at once. Then, as if to puncture the tension, she fluffed out his hair where it had been tucked awkwardly into the collar, her grin returning full force.

“I’m buying you this,” she announced decisively, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

He scoffed, though his voice was softer than he intended. “You’re not buying me anything.”

“Too late,” she said with a teasing lilt, holding up the price tag triumphantly. “Consider it a gift.”

Severus sighed, shaking his head but not protesting further. As she tugged off the small tag and marched off toward the counter to pay, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror beside him. The jacket wasn’t something he would have chosen for himself ever, he didn't really like Muggle clothing and usually avoided it at all costs but the fact she had picked it out declaring it was perfect for him was enough for him to like it. Even if he did feel a little silly wearing it. 

When the time came to leave, they returned to his house. She retrieved her trunk from its spot in his room, getting changed into robes before dragging it to the fireplace. He tried not to let his disappointment show, but it lingered in his chest. It had been a surprisingly pleasant day—simple, easy, almost normal. It was all too easy to forget that the reason she was there was because she had fled her own home. 

Hermione stood quietly, her hands wringing together as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. The silence stretched between them until, suddenly, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. The gesture was warm, unexpected, and deeply sincere. 

Severus stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, before his arms moved almost instinctively to encircle her, holding her close. Her head rested against his chest, and he could feel her steady breathing, the weight of her gratitude. 

“Thank you, Sev,” she murmured into his chest, her voice soft but heavy with meaning. 

He hesitated, his hands tightening slightly around her as he struggled for the right response. Finally, he settled on a quiet, “Anytime, Hermione.” 

The moment lingered, both comforting and bittersweet, before she finally pulled back, offering him a small, genuine smile. She stepped into the fireplace, her trunk in tow, and with a swirl of green flames, she was gone—leaving Severus alone in the quiet room, his heart heavier than he cared to admit.