In the kitchen of number 12, Grimmwald place, a debate was taking place. Normally, any dispute of what mattered when, or who garnered what favor, would take place openly, and quite loudly. Today it was different.

"You can't let him here." A voice hissed. "I know it seems one way, but there's also so much against him."

"Hermione, you're the one who came up with the reason for him to be here. Stop messing around." Harry was not open to debate, and the fact that he had already been expected to accept his least favorite teacher in a confrontation did not help him.

"I know," She said, the venom now gone from her voice. Harry looked at her to see she was working her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes focused on the table.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure you were right in the beginning. And plus, I want some answers. We've been going so long on half truths and now we have a chance to know what really happened, even if it will take some time."

"Do you really think he'll tell us the truth?" She asked, eyes still on the gleaming table.

"Yes, I do. I think it will take a while before he's willing to let us know everything, but I think that he will."

She nodded, and Harry could tell she was trying to school her expression into one of determination. A part of him felt humored to know that she refused to show her weakness in front of the professor.

"I'll go get him." He told her. After receiving her sharp nod to let him know she was ready, he went to get Snape from the small side room in which he was waiting.

A moment later they were seated across from him, Hermione facing Snape with a look of concentration. After a long silence, Hermione spoke.

"So you were the one who planted the information for us to find?"

"Yes, Granger."

"But that doesn't make any sense! You murdered Dumbledore, so why should you aid us in defeating Voldemort?" She herself seemed stretched to the limit, and found the reasons behind Snape's actions difficult to piece together.

"Miss Granger, you can insist on believing what you will, but the fact is that I provided the information that led to the downfall in the last night. I regret your refusal in believing it. I had always the impression you were not prey to such petty hindrances when it came to fact." This longest outburst from Snape came from behind a hand wearily cupped over his face. The inquisition he was now subject to was draining.

"But why were you ready to turn yourself in? Why not use the evidence for acquittal? What were you expecting to happen? I'm having a hard time believing that you would hide your innocence so well instead of seeking freedom."

"I expect there are many things you don't understand."

"Answer, professor, what did you expect to happen?"

"To die." There was a silence that settled over the kitchen. Snape seemed surprised at his own admission, and Hermione shocked. She looked behind her to Harry, her face pleading him for a clue how on how to move forward. Neither one of them were prepared to deal with a suicidal professor, even if it was one they greatly disliked.

"I think that's enough," Said Harry, breaking the tense silence. Hermione's face flooded with relief that was automatically tempered with concern.

"Snape, you'll come with me." Harry stated, waiting for the professor to follow. Once they were on the landing Harry paused.

"Thank you." He said, not turning to look at Snape. Starting up the stair again, he led Snape to what once had been the bedroom of the late Mrs. Black. It had been better kept than the rest of the home throughout the years, evidence of Kreacher's long devotion. The room had less of an air of neglect than the rest of the house, which even with Kreacher's renewed ministrations had yet to return to the former state of splendor.

In Harry's mind, the room was ideal for holding Snape as it featured a private washroom with no outside access.

"I'll be keeping your wand." Harry informed Snape as they entered the room.

For a moment Snape was tempted to admonish him as he would a student, which Harry seemed to sense. Nonetheless, he handed it over after only a moment's delay.

"I'm going to lock the door." Harry informed him with a twinge of guilt as he left, reminded briefly of a memory of Vernon Dursley. For a second, black eyes met green, and the door swung shut, the lock clicking before muffled footsteps retreated down the stairs.

Snape stood in the middle of the suite for a moment, his shoulders hunched. The walls were papered in green satin and the room furnished with ancient armchairs and a large bed. Over the dresser hung a large, gold gilded mirror in which Snape spied his reflection. In the dim room it eerily looked as though his face floated, detached and ghostly white.

His black clothing and black hair blended into the background, unnoticeable unless looked for. After staring into the darkened holes of his own eyes he turned and left for the bathroom.

Early the next morning Harry sat across from Hermione, who was stifling a yawn.

He was certain that the dark bags under her eyes were mirrored under his own, and sighed under the weight of the work they had yet to complete.

Most pressing on his mind was the mystery of the morose professor residing in the upstairs room.

"What do you make of it?" He asked with no preamble.

"I don't know," Hermione lamented, catching his meaning immediately. "I find it suspect he would just hand himself over like that… unless…" She stopped, lost in thought. Harry waited for a moment as her eyes glazed.

"Unless what?" He asked impatiently.

"Well, I'm not sure… it could be a long shot, but what if he were atoning for past sins? We know that he's done bad things as a death eater, so it would make sense that he' s committed more atrocious acts that we haven't even heard about." She shook her head. "Even if that were the case, it's still much to subject yourself to death. Besides, we don't know him well enough to even guess at a true motive."

Harry considered what she had said. To him, if he put aside his anger at Snape, it seemed possible. Yet in his mind he had already started to form a different hypothesis that allowed him to hate the professor.

"What if… what if he thought he couldn't run from us forever, so he decided to turn himself in so we'd be easier on him?" He asked, aware there was doubt in his voice.

"No…" Hermione replied slowly. "No, I don't think he's done this for leniency. He is a very talented wizard. I'm sure he could have evaded us if he tried." She stifled another yawn and took a long drink of her coffee.

"Why don't we worry about this later? We should check if the ministry needs any more help. Besides, I want to check on Ron and his family later."

Harry, relieved that Hermione had suggested it, rose from the table, pushing the issue of Snape from his mind.

Snape sat in the dimly lit quarters of the dead matron Black. The heavy curtains were drawn tight, allowing only a thin stream of light though. His eyes unconsciously followed the path of errant dust floating through the beam, his mind occupied with other things.

He had not yet slept, instead spending the night deep in thought. At first he had stood in the bathroom, considering fulfilling his plans by suicide. As the night passed he could not bring himself to justify it. Losing his life that way, as far as he could tell, was not nearly the same as having it taken from him in execution. Execution would provide justice and redemption, but he was not convinced of the same with suicide.

However, he hadn't yet fully discounted suicide from his options. He was fully aware that one of the things keeping him from using that method was the shame that would be involved. Taking his own life could be so melodramatic, and that was something he wanted nothing to do with. He was also, in a way, terrified.

Now he sat waiting for the sound of creaking stairs, shuffling steps on the landing. Curious as the to line of questioning Potter and Granger would take against him. Surprisingly, the hotheaded Weasley had not been present during his questioning, a small blessing.

For at least the moment he decided he would wait to make up his mind. He wasn't sure what, exactly, the ungodly trio was preparing to do, but he didn't discount that they could be possibly lenient towards him, forgiving his past transgressions in light of his major sacrifice.

Hours later he could hear the shrieking of Mrs. Black's portrait in the lower corridor, announcing the arrival of someone. After waiting for a long while, he could hear the eventual ascendance of someone on the steps.

The door clicked and opened, revealing a tired looking Harry Potter bearing a tray.

"I forgot to ask Kreacher to bring you food. I'm sorry." He said a bit tersely, setting the tray on the small table. Harry then moved to sit in an armchair directly across from where Snape sat on the edge of the overlarge bed.

"That's fine." Murmured Snape softly, still collecting his thoughts. Harry stared at him, bewildered, but the professor seemed to hardly notice or care. He cleared his throat, awkwardly aware of the unsettling behavior of Snape.

"Is there something you want, Potter, or do you merely wish to observe me as I eat?" Said Snape, who had made no move towards the food.

Harry could only guffaw at the man. The jibe, lacking the usual infusion of bitter scorn, had almost sounded like an attempt at good-natured humor. The only thing wrong with it was the dead monotone.

"I'll leave you to eat." He stammered, wondering if Snape was inwardly laughing at his unease.

The door closed, leaving Snape alone once more in the poorly lit room. He stared at the food with little appetite. He doubted that Harry would attempt to poison him. No, in fact, the gesture of the mean indicated that he was in for a long stay.

Sighing, he stood, shrugging off his outer robes and making his way to the bed with the gaudy headboard. If they were going to keep him for an extended stay he may as well be well rested for their inevitable questioning. And frankly, if dared to admit it to himself, he was exhausted.

He sat across Potter and Granger, his dark eyes meeting theirs. Not boldly, but in a way that conveyed years of practice. Of course he looked his accusers in the eye. Remorseful he may be, depressed yes, but a coward? No. He wasn't sure what to expect from two youths who had so clearly despised him for years. Two youths he had given no reason to not despise him.

Truly, his greatest desire at the moment was to return to the dark room they had imprisoned him in. He wanted to go back and master the new feeling of purposeless that had immersed him. It had crept in during the night as he lay in bed, leaving him gasping and trembling; almost sobbing. 'Its over' had repeated in his mind as an involuntary mantra, filling him with lost desperation. An immense pressure had weighed down his limbs, leaving him tense, rigid, and unable to relieve his quaking breath. He knew that at least twice during the frightful night a sound like a wounded animal had torn from his throat when his mind had been too busy to register the actions of his own body.

No, he certainly did not want to be sitting across from the two distrusting Gryffindors after such a night.

"Professor…" Granger started, "Professor, after it was all done, the portrait of Dumbledore said something that made it sound like you've been helping us the whole time. But if that's true, why didn't you declare your side in the final battle? Why would you leave something like that open to speculation?"

If he had been the type of man to laugh, he would have. For such a brilliant girl, she could be really stupid sometimes. That or naïve. Instead he stared at her coldly, unwilling to answer the same question she had posed the night before. Did she expect a different answer? Had she thought that in the shock of the Dark Lord's defeat he had not answered her candidly? His unexpected answer the previous night had been honest, and he was unimpressed that she could not realize that.

"Professor?" Harry asked, almost demanding an answer. Snape sighed inwardly, feeling his patience wearing thin.

"You fools." He said, almost hissing. "You fools. What makes you think my answer would have changed from the previous night? No matter if you had or had not defeated the Dark Lord, Potter, what other feasible outcome do you see that I could have expected?" He spat, venom laced into every word. Idiots, both of them.

Potter looked at him indignantly, opening his mouth as if readying with some retort. However, in a show of wills that surprised Snape, he closed his mouth. Granger looked both angry and confused, not liking his mocking of her intelligence.

"What do you mean by that, Professor? If you had only made it obvious at the end it would have saved us a lot of trouble and you would be a free man!" She exclaimed as if she were explaining the simplest thing in the world.

"Is that so, Granger? After all you've seen you really believe that?" He said quietly, using the same voice that had held many potion classes at attention. "The only way the so called 'good' side of the wizarding world will accept me is dead as a martyr, and even then many people, many people with power and weight, would feel that with my death a great justice has been served. As it is, since I have survived, they will demand my blood in retribution for all of my crimes, both perceived and real. And as for the Dark Lord, he would have killed me instantly after you three burst onto the scene destroying his precious remaining Horcruxes with the sword that I had been entrusted to keep. No, Granger, Potter, I had no intentions of joining that battle and forfeiting my life in the frenzy. I knew my death was coming, sooner or later, and I decided to spend my last night of freedom well away from the sickening power struggle that has enslaved me for the last nineteen years of my life."

He knew he had said too much, but felt satisfaction at the embarrassed shame that had flushed the face of his questioners.

"Fine, Professor, fine. I think we're beginning to understand, if only a little." Harry placatingly. "We don't even have to talk about that now, because we've actually heard of a few things that you might want to know."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Well," He continued with a cough, "We've heard things from the ministry, about you. They're looking for you, for the murder of Dumbledore, and a few other things. Like you said, wanting your blood in retribution. But we can't let them have you, because you have the answer to so many things we need cleared up. I know you don't really want to help us, or answer our questions. The portrait of Dumbledore told us enough that we're not just going to turn you in that quickly. He let us know that there were reasons you killed him, reasons that you would have to tell us yourself. And you know other things. Voldemort is dead, but there's so many things that are a mess, and we need help to clean it up."

"Where are you going with this, Potter?"

"Well, we can't keep you here… and I don't want to keep you like a prisoner any ways. But we want to keep you safe from the ministry, especially right now when it's still trying to figure out what it's doing. Kingsley is trying his best but…" Pausing when he noticed Snape's raised brows, he cleared his throat again.

"We going to hide you at Hermione's home, for right now, and give you a different wand to use so they can't trace your signature. You can have yours, but you'll just have that one to use." Harry stopped, looking back at Hermione who seemed displeased, but resigned to the plan.

Snape sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. Him, hiding in the Muggle home of Hermione Granger? The whole idea was preposterous, and besides, he had not lived in a muggle home since his childhood—and that had been unpleasant.

Sighing, he made up his mind. "Very well, Potter, I will go to this house, if only to make time to plan my next move." He conceded, not looking at either as he agreed to this degrading course of action.

"Very good," Said Harry. He rose from the chair and made as to leave before stopping suddenly, gripped by an afterthought.

"Oh, and Professor?" Black eyes rose to meet green, "If I find your explanation for killing Dumbledore unsatisfactory, I will not hesitate to collect my own retribution."