III

Snape woke to the smell of fresh bread, a gentle release from his slumber. It has been a while since he was in the comfort of a warm bed and home; his house was demolished after his absence post-War, whether by realtors who thought him dead or sympathizers who hoped he was still residing there when it happened. He was living in seclusion for longer than he thought that the world had settled into this idea that he had something to hide: "Well, if the Ministry excused him why is he missing?" "They were wrong, he's a traitor." That was until Harry Potter and his aptitude for interfering found him in the woods of Bavaria; how he managed, Snape would never know. But perhaps he would use Legilimens on him one day, out of curiosity.

The smell grew stronger. The man sat up and his feet met soft rug and he sighed, his elbows on his knees and fingers linked under his chin. He was irritated, and a looming feeling of uncertainty swelled deep at his core. He just felt wrong. Snape decided to take on the day, bounding to his washroom and setting the faucet; he paused, catching a glimpse of himself in the large floor length mirror. He had aged greatly from his time serving the Dark Lord and squeezed under Dumbledore's thumb. His black hair was inches longer and his beard was growing thick; his skin was discolored in places where he had frost bite during his refuge in the unforgiving German winter, and between the scars accumulated from duels he probably should have died in. Snape's hand trailed up his abdomen to his neck, where the scars were most prominent: four large teeth mark for each vicious attack—six separate strikes—and one long gash through his jugular. Yes, he most definitely should have died.

Slipping into the scalding bath, he reminisced.

There was a burning hot blaze against his neck, and Severus Snape fell into an ungraceful heap against the wall of the Shrieking Shack.

"Nagini...kill!"

One strike, two strike, three strike, fourfivesix

He could feel his blood pool around him, dampening his cloaks and leaving him lifeless. Darkness crept at the corners of his eyes as he watched Voldemort apparate with the giant snake. This was it. Snape closed his eyes and welcomed death like an old friend, losing consciousness. He saw her, of course, and her red tendrils and sad smile welcoming him. She wasn't alone: a familiar old man peered at him through half-moon spectacles; the brooding face of Eileen Prince floated vaguely, of what he remembered his Mother to once look like.

I'm coming, Lily…

Snape felt cold, sticky hands press down on his throat that caused him to inhale sharply. Opening his eyes, he saw the Golden Trio, not at all what he expected nor wanted. He was met with heartbreakingly lovely eyes attached to a replica of a man that disgusted him, though they were fervent and unsure. He spoke, but Snape could barely make sense of it all.

"-mione...something…anything..."

All was black, and silent, and surprisingly, warm.

Severus jumped as if he was reliving the moment again, causing a bit of bath water to splash on the floor. Enough was enough, back to reality. He clothed himself, still damp, and followed the scent down the hall and stairs. He glanced around and saw the main doors to Esther Estate that he entered the night prior. To the right was the parlor where that awful Unbreakable Vow was put in place, and he could see the glow of the fire once more.

"Miss Granger?" he spoke, entering yet seeing nothing but scattered books and parchment on the coffee table, a thick blanket sprawled on the loveseat. Stepping out, he took a good look at the grandeur of this estate. Dark wood stairs curved up the walls on either side leading to the second floor where the hallway was split by a giant painting of a woman that gazed over the foyer. Light shone through the arched windows just above the entrance, creating rainbows through the old chandelier that hung. He wondered how the girl came in ownership of such a grand though enigmatic manor. "Miss Granger?" He raised his voice to carry. Doors then slid into the walls at the midway point in the ground floor hall and Hermione appeared, leaning lazily against the new entryway.

"Your possessions are here, sir, just in the dining room," she said, disappearing in the room once again. His lips curled at her evident lack of manners as he stalked in and accounted his belongings beside the table. The dining room broke off into the kitchen which was far more modern than the rest of the estate, with French doors the only thing between it and the harsh winter outside. Hermione set pastries on the island alongside fresh rolls, sausages and juice. There were bar stools there, and she ushered him to sit. The air was awkward, but he begrudgingly sat. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Miss Granger—"

"I apologize for being so harsh last night, sir," interrupted he young girl as she passed him a plate. She scoffed. "Although you were being terribly unappreciative and uncooperative."

"Excuse me? What did you—"

"But I understand," she interjected once more with a sigh. "I understand why you are unhappy about it. I will do my best to uphold this agreement."

"That is the second time you interrupted me, Miss Granger," said Severus in an annoyed tone. "You understand nothing. Perhaps, in time, you shall realize that. There is still a war going on, you silly girl, and naturally you insufferable children put yourselves in the middle of it."

Hermione seemed to have barely heard him, which only further irritated the man. She brought up a crystal decanter from below the counter with two glasses filled with ice. Tilting the decanter's mouth toward him, she asked, "Would you like a drink?"

Severus frowned. "It isn't quite noon yet, Miss Granger." Disapproving, as always. She shrugged and poured herself half a glass, absently swirling her finger in the Firewhiskey and ice.

"I'll need you to train me better in the Dark Arts, if you don't mind."

"I do mind, Miss Granger," replied Snape in a flat tone.

She raised a brow and took a mouthful of her drink. "Pity. It's honestly the only way I can protect you."

"I do not need protecting, stupid girl; I am far more superior in the arts than you could possibly imagine. Besides, I would have expected an Auror as yourself would already be talented in the arts…then again…"

"That is not my life anymore," said Hermione, quietly. Her big brown eyes bore holes through Snape's head, empty and cold. His brow quirked up. "Those days are behind me."

"It wasn't that long ago, from what I gather. Are you that inadequate of a witch that the teachings have left your small mind already?" He was unforgiving.

Hermione blinked several times before snorting and breaking into laughter. She slumped in her chair and held her head up by a hand that squashed her cheek, grinning with humor and spinning her glass of Firewhiskey. "Oh, please, Snape," she drawled unfamiliarly, "You and I both know I am the most capable student you have ever encountered. If there is anyone who can protect you…it's me."

Snape did not speak. He was taken aback by the girl's almost maniac outburst and simply stared down at her. She was unlike the eager know-it-all he reluctantly taught at Hogwarts and carried herself in a manner he could not quite place. Hollow and cool, with newfound narcissism that was almost fit for a Slytherin. She was right, he knew. Regardless of her quarter life and change spent on this earth, Hermione surpassed most witches and wizards that walked through the same stone walls of Hogwarts centuries before her. The only difference was that now she knew so, and she was self-assured. A potentially dangerous state.

Hermione stood suddenly, her face free of laughter and her mouth recomposed in a flat line.

"Come, I have something to show you."

"I rather not, Miss Granger."

She frowned. "It's important that you understand."

Severus knew that the girl would not take no for an answer and reluctantly followed her out the kitchen and through the dining area until they were at the main hall once again, although this time she beckoned him opposite of his room. She waved her wand and a door appeared. As she opened it candles ignited the unknown room and the door dissolved behind them. Snape, ever paranoid, grasped his wand and leaned against the wall, surveying his surroundings. His hand lowered as more candles lit the windowless room, granting his eyes enough light to swallow what was there.

Dark objects.

Glass cabinets lined the walls in their entirety, filled with all sorts of foreign and dark oddities: shrunken heads, different size teeth and amulets that hummed in a way that they almost spoke. There were body parts of creatures in jars filled with formaldehyde staggered on tables and the floors alongside towers of equally dark books in different languages; crystals and other stones hung from hooks, and Snape could have sworn one locket looked very familiar. He gingerly walked through the maze of unfavorable objects, cautious not to accidentally graze anything that could kill him in an instant.

"Well, Miss Granger, I can easily say that I am once again impressed by the foolishness you never fail to exhibit," said Severus, turning to her. She shrugged nonchalantly, arms crossed. "And by that I am saying that you are an imbecile and do not fully grasp the magnitude of danger you have sitting right beside your kitchen."

Hermione was on him in very few steps, peering up at him like the eager learner he knew, though a little crazed.

"You're still not understanding, Professor," she began, touching an amulet that glowed orange then white as it began singeing her finger tips. "Aurors are taught how to think like dark witches and wizards, but they do not learn how to be them."