In Half-light and Shadows

Chapter One

She swam, for what seemed an eternity, in ebony eyes, before allowing her gaze to drift over him in his entirety. He was not at all as she remembered. His hair still framed his face in curtains, but it was shorter than it had been in her school days, cropped around his ears in a more fashionable style. It looked waxy, she thought, as opposed to greasy, as though he had perhaps applied some sort of product. Whatever he'd done, the overall affect accentuated his nose, serving to make him look perhaps as though he belonged to some great aristocratic breed. He was dressed smartly, in tidy, bottle green robes, though they were incomparable with the button-down image he'd maintained whilst teaching. She also noticed he'd attained something of a paunch, however she rather thought the extra weight had gone some way to dissipate the gauntness of his appearance, making his face fuller and healthier looking, which contrasted with his being practically hunched over in his chair, his shoulders stiff and his fingers nervously twisting a paper napkin into a damp paper spear.

'You're gawping, Miss Grange, and it really isn't becoming of a… woman of your age,' he said in that silky-smooth voice. Hermione swore she saw the briefest of smiles flicker over his thin lips as she stepped towards the table where he'd eventually motioned for her to take a seat opposite him. 'Why are you here?' he asked, without further preamble.

She realised there was to be no small talk. 'I … you … I mean…' she stammered. She felt the heady euphoria she had experienced at initially finding him seep away. In an instant she was at school again, a little girl slightly awed but mostly terrified of her Potions teacher, despite his countenance being completely at odds with what she was used to back then. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she thought she ought to continue, more coherently this time, lest he get bored and disappear once more. 'I came to find you,' she managed after a slow, deep intake of breath, 'for Harry.'

A flash of anger crossed his features but when a waitress approached to take their order his tone was calm and quiet, conversational almost. 'Would you like anything to drink?' he asked simply. Hermione nodded mutely and watched as he ordered something in what she presumed was stilted Romanian, which the waitress seemed to find amusing.

At breakfast yesterday the keeper of the small inn where Hermione was staying had approached her with a short, crumpled note: Tomorrow. The Moroi. 1pm. She had recognised the spiky scrawl instantly (it had adorned many of her Potions essays) and forgot to breathe for what must have been an unhealthy length of time. The Moroi, she had seen, was a dismal looking pub in town square, and she had become no more enamoured by it when she entered just over twenty-four hours later to meet Severus Snape. This afternoon it was busy enough that they looked inconspicuous together in the corner, but not so busy as they couldn't hear one another's hushed tones.

As the waitress toddled off to fetch their order Snape turned his attention completely to Hermione. 'What does he want?' he asked, in an oddly small voice. Hermione had become momentarily beguiled by the man in front of her and it took her a moment to remember who he was talking about.

'Err, Harry? Well…' She had thought long and hard about why Harry might truly want Snape to return to England, because she wasn't sure Harry even knew himself anymore. Five years ago his reasoning had been that Snape was a war hero, a legitimate member of the Order no less, and, as such, deserved the recognition that the others had all received. Gryffindor honour was bound up in these medals and titles that provided evidence of their bravery, but Hermione had never been convinced that this was something Snape would appreciate, never mind desire for himself. And anyway, towards the end of Harry's three years of exhaustive searching, Hermione had come to a rather different conclusion as to why Harry really wanted this… She decided to present her weakest argument first.

'For one, you're a war hero, and he wants that recognised,' she said quickly so that she could move on to her next, more considered answers, 'two, you need to be in England to have your name properly cleared. Harry's managed to convince the Ministry to stop searching for you themselves, but there's a limit to how long they'll hold off, and there'd have to be a trial of course… Harry would put a word in-'

'You're rambling, Miss Granger,' Snape interrupted, as their drinks arrived and he began taking big gulps of honey-coloured beer. 'What is number three?'

Hermione nodded, building herself up mentally to voice what was the last reason out loud. It was personal to Harry, so personal, in fact, that he had not spoken it out loud himself, not in so many words, anyway. 'Sorry… I suppose… yes, I suppose, number three is that Harry feels a little indebted to you and he wants to… I don't know, return the favour as best he can.'

'What, with an Order of Merlin and a sack full of galleons?' Snape asked, his voice still quiet but his tone now familiarly laced with sarcasm.

Hermione's brow creased, 'he knows it isn't comparable to the sacrifices you made but it's something. He's been riddled with guilt, thinking if… if he'd just listened to Dumbledore about trusting you then…'

Yes, fundamentally, Hermione suspected, having Snape return to England and bestowing these superficial rewards upon him was a way for Harry to assuage his own guilt. It was all to make Harry feel better. Hermione felt bad thinking this of her friend, but then, why shouldn't he feel better? In the months and years straight after the war there had been torturous dreams and sleepless nights, days when guilt at the thought of how many had died for him had been crippling, and times when sadness had seemed almost painful. They had all suffered but none so much as Harry. But Harry had had good friends, in the Weasleys had found good family, and so, in time he had made a decent attempt at re-building his life. There had been memorials and ceremonies and services for the dead and each and every one of them had received their due recognition. All with the exception of Snape, that is, and this continued to bother Harry because as far as Harry was concerned, he owed his life to Snape.

This was why Hermione was using this as her final piece of leverage; she knew that if anyone understood the overwhelming power of a life debt, it was Severus Snape.

Snape snorted derisively though. 'That's more like it,' he said, smirking, 'he wants to put his own mind at ease, he doesn't actually care at all that I'm compensated for my "sacrifices," as you put it.'

'N-no… that's not entirely true. If he'd just known, things might have been different!' she snapped, finding herself suddenly having to be defensive. She took a few large mouthfuls of her own beer, which was cool and sweet, though her mounting anger allowed her little time to dwell on the subtleties of it. She had been planning this moment for a very long time and now it had arrived coherent articulation was failing her and ruining everything. She supposed that the passage of time had ameliorated her memories of Snape and just how obtuse he was capable of being. 'Anyway, it isn't so different from what you were doing, really,' she said, watching him over the rim of her tankard.

'What?'

'You were only acting your part as spy because of guilt, if I remember rightly!'

His expression darkened and he looked torn between bolting for the door and hexing her into the middle of next week. His knuckles had gone white where he clutched the chair arms. She thought perhaps she'd gone too far and the last thing she wanted to do was frighten him off. Not now that she had come so close.

'Sorry,' she said quickly, offering him a sincerely apologetic smile. 'That was uncalled for. I didn't come here to argue… I'm tired is all…'

He nodded curtly and slumped further into the chair, though she noticed he hadn't loosened his grip and she suspected he wasn't arguing with her because he knew she was right.

'Things could not have been any other way,' Snape said simply, after taking a moment to compose himself, 'I have nothing to apologise for.'

'The way you treat Harry in school was an act, for Draco Malfoy's benefit,' she stated, though her tone belied the fact that she was trying to convince herself, as much as Snape, that this was true.

Severus shook his head, 'no.'

'What? You actively hated a child?' she scoffed. His expression now fluctuated somewhere between enraged and bemused. She got the impression he was seldom challenged and despite herself she was enjoying finally being able to stand up for herself with him. Her confidence resurfaced slightly. 'You don't hate Harry.'

'Oh, I don't?'

'No, you hate James, and with James being dead and all, you'll settle for his son.'

'Hmm… an interesting theory,' he mocked, but he didn't seem particularly invested in the argument, which again led Hermione to believe she was right.

'Even if you do hate Harry in his own right, your opinions of him are based on the way he acted at school and quite frankly, Professor, he gave as good as he got!' she sighed. 'I am not suggesting you become friends,' she continued before he could interrupt, 'believe me, that's not what Harry wants either, just that you're… courteous to one another, for long enough for your name to be cleared, and Harry to honour your role in the war. Then you can do whatever you want. I fail to see how this isn't mutually beneficial.'

Snape shook his head and gave a small shrug. 'No one here knows of my past, so a clear name in England is going to make very little difference to me. Anyway… if all this is try about Potter, why isn't he here himself?'

'Harry spent three years looking for you, even while he was training to be an Auror and didn't really have the time or money to travel, he'd make sure he searched every place there was ever a reported sighting… he tried, but finally resigned himself to the fact that you didn't want to be found-'

'-Just about the most sensible thought the boy ever had,' Snape grunted.

Hermione glared at him and continued unperturbed, 'I think he thought he could live with that, but it eats him up if he thinks about it for long enough. He just wants to thank you properly. You coming back will finally free him of all this and don't you think he deserves that?'

'What I think is that I have done enough for him!' Snape hissed, 'I would have thought it was obvious I wanted to avoid the limelight your friend was so eager to bask in, but… what about you, Miss Granger?' he asked, eyeing her curiously. He sat forward in the chair slightly, his face shifting out of the shadows.

'What about me?'

'Why aren't you resigned to the fact that I did not want to be found?' he said, placing especial emphasis on the last six words as though he was speaking to a particularly dim child.

'I…' she hesitated. She could hardly tell him that he had become her project, he distraction from reality. Her obsession. She shrugged instead, which was followed by a long period of silence in which Hermione busied herself with her drink. Snape finished the remnants of his own beverage, his eyes now fixed on her, and slammed his tankard down onto the table with an air of finality.

'Was there anything else, Miss Granger?' he asked impatiently, drumming long, thin fingers on the oak table.

There were thousands of other questions Hermione wanted to ask but the most obvious, and undoubtedly the most pertinent, was the first that made it to her lips, and it was out of her mouth before she had really had chance to think about it, but she had a burning desire to know the answer and this might be her only opportunity to get it. 'We… we saw you die, Professor, the snake and… we went back to the Shrieking Shack for your body and, well, you were gone… We saw you die!'

Suddenly his whole countenance changed. He sat further forward, seemingly folding in on himself. One hand tugged briefly at his collar, drawing Hermione's attention for the first time to the thin pink scars of Nagini's bite, before he crossed his arms protectively across his chest. He wore a worried frown, fidgeted nervously and glanced around the pub. His eyes narrowed as he clearly debated internally about whether or not to tell her.

'Blood replenisher and anti-venom,' he said finally, forcing a sad, almost nostalgic smile, and looking off into the mid-distance. 'That's an anti-climactic answer, I'm sure.'

She suspected there was more to it than that but said 'the simplest plans are often the best,' not having the energy to argue with him.

He gave a brief nod. 'Please,' he then said suddenly, 'tell Potter I don't want to go back to England and please, don't tell anyone where I am!'

Hermione was taken aback and failed to hid it. Snape was pleading with her and looking at him sat there she realised he struck something of a pitiable figure. For all his healthier complexion and generally more aesthetically pleasing exterior, she recognised a familiar tortured look in his eyes; a look she had seen in many of the war weary. She thought how they had all had one another and how Snape had had no one; both during and after the war. This was not at all what she had anticipated. She had to admit it was rather disappointing. She was not accustomed to not getting the results she desired and it left her with an uneasy, incomplete sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she was not willing to cause Snape undue distress.

She merely asked, 'why?' rather feebly.

He frowned, 'I… because I'm free here. Freer than I could ever hope to be in England whether my name is cleared or not… and anonymous, with no one to answer to,' he replied, then, looking suddenly solemn, added, 'I… didn't do what I did for Potter. I thought that that was clear from my memories he's so generously shared with everyone.'

'I suppose it was,' Hermione sighed, now completely out of energy for arguing and suddenly wishing she was anywhere but in this miserable Romanian ale house. 'I'll leave you be. I'm sorry I bothered you.' She plunged a hand into her bag and pulled out her purse, from which she extracted a few coins for the drink and stood to leave.

'They're on my tab,' Snape said, handing her the money back and standing also. She'd quite forgotten how tall he was but he no longer loomed over her as he had used to loom over her cauldron to inspect her work at school. In fact, he continued to look rather uncomfortable, determined to look anywhere but at Hermione.

'Oh… then thanks.'

He shrugged. He was infuriating.

'Look, Miss Granger,' he said suddenly, 'I had rather thought my absence would go unnoticed so… I will admit, it is… not unpleasant to think that someone was… willing to look for me,… though why you wasted two years of your life I doubt I will ever understand.'

'Me either,' she said. Her bluntness seemed to cause Snape pain and he recoiled slightly, back into the shadowy corner, looking puzzled and hurt.

'Yes, I had rather thought the dislike was mutual,' he said, recovering himself enough to respond to her in a half-baked sneer.

'Oh, it is,' she agreed, swinging her handbag over her shoulder. 'Goodbye, Professor,' she said with a weak smile before turning to leave.

~oOo~

He watched her walk away. It crossed his mind that, in the years between the Final Battle and this moment in a grimy pub in the centre of a small Romanian town, she had grown from a child to a woman, but such thoughts were only half formed. He had been thoroughly perturbed by her presence in Bolstrad ever since he became away of it some three days ago.

'We've had a young lady in here looking for you,' they'd told him in this very pub. 'Brown hair, brown eyes, about so tall,' they'd said at the grocers. 'Very… how do you say… inquisitive about you,' his acquaintance at the perfumers had said.

Having determined to avoid her he had then seen her for himself whilst out shopping for potions ingredients at the market and had decided that meeting with her would perhaps be the best way to rid himself of her once and for all. He had spent the last five years distancing himself from every aspect of his past life and seeing her had immediately brought all those memories screaming back.