A/N: Alright, I've more or less given up on Life Long Secrets, because I wasn't even half way done with it and it was already about fifty chapters, and then my floppy disk broke and I lost all of it. So I'm not too happy about that. Maybe I'll get back to it eventually, but probably not.

This is a HBP version of LLS (kind of) stemming from the idea that Hermione was pregnant when Severus broke it off with her, right before a battle at Hogwarts. So in a way, it's slightly AU, pretending that Hermione and Severus had a relationship in her 6th year that no one knew about.

I have no clue how long this thing'll end up, but hopefully it won't be fifty chapters. I don' t know though, I have a tendency to not shut up.

It's rated for possibilities, since, as you can see, this chapter just has some swearing and mention of a few naughty things. I have no real outline for this story yet, so reviews would be a mad helper right now.

Disclaimer: Not mine. What more can I say?

Chapter 1: Azkaban

He was tired. There was no other word for the hopeless and apathy all rolled into one but exhaustion. Except maybe madness, but he was in not state to self diagnose himself, and it would be a frigid day in hell before they brought down a physiatrist to aid his mental state along.

He was, after all, a murder. And murders did not deserve pretty potions to make the feelings go away. If anything, they'd pump him full of amplifiers that would only serve to make the emptiness multiply. Although, he mused, the pain, at least, has not returned.

It had been months, maybe even years since the guilt and sorrow had eaten away at his mask if indifference. That had been unbearable, the words always niggling at the back of his mind. You killed Albus Dumbledore.

It should not have hurt him as much as it did. After all, he had killed him so long ago. With hatred in his heart, he had turned his wand on the old, pleading man, and struck him dead, watching his twinkling eyes go lifeless, as the tired soul had fled from the body. It had filled him with emotions he had hoped to never feel again.

Not least of which was the thirst for blood. Oh, when he had seen Potter that night, he craved to tear his Gryffindor heart out of his pathetic chest and take a bite out of it, chewing it for good measure and then spitting the remains on Potter's now-dead body. The boy had been so distraught that he could have, too. He could have snapped the boy's neck and stood behind him as the body went cold, and his mother's eyes closed in death.

Death was always in the eyes.

He had not seen his face in a mirror for a long time now, but he had no doubt that his own eyes reflected death in the worst way. Empty, cold and hollow. The death had seeped into them long ago, behind the masks he had worn. Each mask held a different emotion, loyalty, regret, anger, sadness. But now, the masks were gone. All that he had left was himself and the knowledge that he had killed Albus Bloody Dumbledore.

In the beginning, he had wanted more. He lost himself on the grounds of Hogwarts, regaining his composure in time to see that he had broken Potter's skin, something he had been ordered most firmly not to do.

Always with the orders.

Even now, in Azkaban, his life was not his own. Every warden had a different routine in order to receive food. Dance, Sing, Strip, Masturbate for me. There were times where he wished that they had left the inhuman dementors to watch Azkaban. Instead, they had put the aurors at the helm, and soon the Ministry's visits became less and less, allowing the aurors, bored and irate, to do as they please.

So he had become a plaything. Not that the feeling was a completely unknown one. The Dark Lord had toyed with his betrayed heart, Dumbledore had used his grief and shame, and more often then not, both had toyed with his connection to the Potter kid.

He heard a clicking behind him, but continued to face the cell wall, hoping they'd just leave the food, or not even bother to give it to him. He could starve for all that anyone in this prison cared, and that would be more then fine with him. He had stopped caring the last time he had seen the papers and noticed that the war was still in it's deepest throes, and the prediction left for another ten to fifteen years before it would end. He was still fighting.

"Snape!" the angry snap came from behind him, and he sighed and turned around, reaching down to the belt of his shabby robes. The voice was familiar, the auror who liked a strip show.

But when he finished his slow rotation, his hand dropped from the now half-tied knot. The guard was not alone. With him stood a tall, skinny woman with long, dark hair. Were the lighting any better in the room, he could have made out the color, but from here it appeared to be a dark brown.

"Snape, get ready! Your defense trial's in half an hour."

Snape's eyes widened, expressing for the first time in years an emotion other then apathy. Surprise.

Defense Trial? When did that happen? "Who's my council?"

For the first time, the woman spoke, in a voice completely unfamiliar to him. "That would be me. Get dressed." She tossed a pair of black robes at him and strode out.

The light burned his eyes, having been without bright light for years. He had forgotten how warm the sun could be, how loud the birds could chirp. His brain was spinning, mind on sensory overload. How had he forgotten the smell of the sea, with it ten feet away from his cell? The thick walls had obviously been charmed to keep anything out that could distract a prisoner from anything but the thoughts in his own mind. But how could he have forgotten the distinct sound of the waves rolling across the beach?

Ahead of him, he heard a tongue clicking and the woman stopped suddenly, causing him to collide with him, his legs severely out of shape from only having his cell to move around in. She turned around, a pinched look on her face. "Please refrain from spacing out. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Have you heard a word I've said so far?"

He blushed, having realized that no, he hadn't heard a single syllable. How long had she been talking to him about… anything? At this point, any conversation not about traitors would be a welcome change.

"I asked if there was anything you remembered about the day Dumbledore was murdered that could convince the Wizengamot that you're innocent? Your reputation speaks for itself, Master Snape." She stared him down with a pair of dark eyes that he had seen somewhere before, like in a dream. After a few seconds of silence, she rolled her dark eyes and faced forward again, striding quickly with her long legs, forcing his now exhausted legs to speed up in order to match her pace.

"I don't wish you to make it easy on me, I knew when I took this on that it would be nearly impossible. But you're going to have to take the stand. And if you stare at the Wizengamot as if you're mute, they're going to throw out the case an I'm going to be the laughing stock of the wizarding world."

"And I?" He was huffing by now, sorely out of shape, but she didn't look affected in the slightest by his breathlessness. It was like being with the guards all over again.

"Well, I think it goes without saying that if we lose this case, you'll be fed to one of the few remaining dementors for dinner." She didn't hesitate or sound devastated by this. It almost sounded like she couldn't care less about his life, she was only in this for the reputation.

His feet chose now to stop moving, and he nearly tripped again from the sudden stop. "Wait, you're telling me that if we lose, I'll get—"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, the Dementor's Kiss. So we might want to brush your teeth before the trial, so you'll taste minty fresh." Her tone took on a dry undertone, and she had a smirk on her face befitting of a Slytherin in his best moment.

"Don't sound so devastated on my behalf, Miss…" he trailed off, realizing that she had not, as of yet, learnt her name.

"Just call me Miss, for now. If we are to keep a working relationship, you will be Master Snape and I will be Miss. If we win, I'll tell you my name. If we lose, it will no longer matter, will it?" She made another dismissive gesture with her hand and continued the trek down to the edge of the island.

"We'll be taking a portkey to the Ministry of Magic, where we'll check in. Then I'll get you a semi-decent meal and you'll wash up. You look like death warmed over." She glanced down at her watch, a muggle one. "We have an hour and a half, and it'll take us at least an hour to talk about everything we need to discuss. So that'll give you a half hour to wash up. Sufficient?" Without waiting for an answer from him, she grabbed his hand and they spun away.

A/N: Sorry it's so short, generally my chapters are at least 5 pages. Please review, I'd love you forever and ever.