"Bah... that stubborn old goat." I stormed out of the door. "What does that bat think he's doing anyway?"

I healed him, closed his wounds, probably saved him. After that, I lingered outside his hut for days, only to be turned away by that grumpy elf time and time again. Yes, okay! It was only two days. "But hello?" The rejection hurt, and it felt like something cold was spreading in my heart. I disapparated. By now, I could do it pretty well, even though officially I still wasn't allowed. But let's be honest, I didn't care, and it didn't matter now, so soon after the war. I reappeared on the top step in front of the door to Grimmauld Place number twelve. Quietly, I opened the door and tiptoed through the hallway into the kitchen. I slumped down gracefully like a bag of Doxie dung on one of the chairs at the kitchen table and rested my head tiredly on my hands. With a loud groan, I stood up moments later and kicked over the chair I had been sitting on. "Shit." I had to move, let off some steam. I walked to the kitchen counter. "Damn it... ugh," I clenched my fists. I needed to calm down. "Take deep breaths, Harry. In and out." I stood there in front of the stove for a long time until the monster in my chest slowly calmed down again.

Kreacher slinked into the kitchen. But when he saw that I was cooking and he made moves to reclaim control over the stove, I grumbled something about "Go away, I've got this!" and "I want some peace and quiet." He withdrew without a word of protest or any other unfriendly remarks. That had long been over. When I heard the kitchen door creak, I turned around and was about to snap at whoever it was, but I paused. There in the doorway stood Hermione, still in her pajamas, calmly surveying me with her arms crossed. I sighed, looked down, then turned back to focus on the scrambled eggs sizzling in the pan. After a short while, her arms wrapped around my waist and she nestled her cheek between my shoulder blades. "Hey," she murmured wearily against my back. "Hey, Mine," I replied gently. "Could you sleep?" "Mhm, a little," she answered softly, then let go of me and sat down on one of the chairs near the stove. "You're cooking," she observed, and in the same breath, she remarked, "He's alive, isn't he?" "Yes, he's alive and in a bad mood." I took a breath. "As always... Typical Snape." I exhaled and nudged the scrambled eggs in the pan. Mine didn't like it when it was still 'slimy'.

"Yesterday you called him Severus," she said. I tensed up but said nothing in response. Merlin, this witch was observant. "Harry," she said gently. "What did you see in the Pensieve?" She didn't miss a thing. "I..." I didn't know if I should tell her. I didn't even know how to deal with what I had seen myself, nor did I understand what I was feeling. Slowly, I turned to face her, looking into her warm, dark brown eyes as she calmly, perhaps a little tired but attentively, assessed me. Her calmness transferred to me and tipped the scales toward wanting to tell her everything.

Over the past months, no, years, I had entrusted Hermione with my life more than once. Why shouldn't I also entrust her with my heart?

Kreacher had managed to set the table somehow without me noticing. I took the frying pan off the stove and sat down at the table with Hermione.

We ate in silence. She gave me the time I needed to organize the words and, most importantly, my thoughts in my head, to eventually be able to talk to her about it. Like many of my kind, I wasn't one to eagerly discuss my feelings and the events associated with them.

"I kept them," I began, and Hermione's eyes widened. "The memories, you carry them with you?" I nodded. "Yes, I had them with me when I was killed." That sounded strange. "He entrusted me with my mum, everything. I don't even know if he was aware of that. Every memory of her from him is in this vial. At least it seems that way to me."

I took it out of my pocket and placed it on the table between us. "He didn't just give me the direct memories of her and Dumbledore's final command, but also the memories that are, uh, only links to her." "What do you mean?" Hermione asked softly. She didn't want to pressure me, yet she was genuinely curious now.

I stared at the table, my gaze tracing over the smooth wood grain, the natural indentations, and the rough nicks clearly made by knives. "He also gave me the memories he had of me. Various impressions, starting with the night Voldemort tried to kill me. I could see it, Mine, and I could feel what he felt." Again, I fell silent for a while. It was so confusing now to know what he had felt when he had thrown all those insults and accusations at me. "At first, he despised me, even hated me, because I survived and Mum didn't. But over time, he not only admitted that I'm different from my dad, but also that he couldn't blame me for Mum's death. He watched me. Apparently, even during my holidays. He never completely took his eyes off me. He gradually let go of his hatred, I could feel it. And then, when I had Occlumency lessons with him, I don't know, his perception of me somehow changed. I could feel it, Mine! He, he... I think he likes me. He cared about me, wanted to help me, and not because of my Mum, but because of me." I fell silent, and then, for the first time since I started talking, I raised my gaze. Hermione's eyes sparkled knowingly. "Harry, you..." "No, it feels good to know that someone cares about me." She looked at me sadly. "Hermione, I have no one left, not my parents or Sirius!" I glanced at the ceiling, feeling the tears in my eyes. I closed them, lowered my head, and buried my face in my hands. "They're all gone! Remus, Tonks... Dumbledore... Fred... everything I could have had as family is gone... everything." I didn't look up as Hermione reached for my wrist. "But Harry, you, you have friends! Me and Ron and Molly and Arthur, not to mention Ginny. That's your family," she said reassuringly. "Oh yeah? But is it yours too?" Her hand fell weakly onto the tabletop, and when I looked up, tears were streaming down her cheeks. "No, you're right. It's not. I'm sorry, Harry." I took her hand in mine and warmed it. "Me too, Mine. Me too."