A/N: This does not belong to me. The characters, world, and backbone belong to JK Rowling. I am so sorry these are so slow, I'm going to try to get chapter four up tonight too. Thanks for reading and all the kind reviews :]

CHAPTER THREE

When she was fifteen, he had been called to Grimmauld Place before an Order meeting. To his great irritation, Dumbledore was running late, leaving him to wait with the others. Both Black and Lupin were there and he had no interest in swapping hilarious stories about Potter or Hogwarts or whatever they might have been in there laughing about. Perhaps it was even about me, he thought sourly. This is what he gets for taking up sides with a bunch of Gryffindors. Arthur Weasley he could tolerate, for the most part. Minerva, when she was there, could be good company if he was feeling particularly chatty (which he was not). Shacklebolt, too, he had a grudging respect for. At least someone in the ministry wasn't a complete dunderhead.

But all of them were in the kitchen chatting, and he had no interest in just sitting in the corner and glowering. He might do that somewhere else where he wouldn't have to be subject to the two remaining marauders. So, he made his way into the library (more like storming), and swung the door open, knocking someone with bushy brown hair over. He reached out and grabbed her around the waist instinctively, pulling her up to him. She rested her small hands on his chest and as he righted her, he caught a whiff of her hair. Hermione Granger smelled like honeysuckle.

"Professor Snape?" She asked, looking up at him a blush crossing her cheeks. He released her immediately, and straightened his robes. He could still feel two warm spots on his chest where her hands had been. And the lingering smell of honeysuckle sat in his nostrils.

"One would think, Ms. Granger, that with all the books you've doubtlessly read, you might have come across one describing doorways," he sneered at her.

"I'm sorry professor," she said, irritation making her voice a bit higher than natural. He could hear the steel in her clipped tones. "I was going to open the door. I didn't expect you to open it so quickly." Her tone clearly indicated she had left much unsaid. He arched an eyebrow.

"Unless you'd like to get knocked over again, I suggest you get out of my way."

She fled.

He sat in the library, having found a book, but he couldn't concentrate on it. How strong was the shampoo that stupid girl was using? It smelled like something familiar, he couldn't put his finger on it … It wasn't an unpleasant smell, actually, but the fact that it was her smell bothered him immensely. Now, all he could smell was honeysuckle! Snape opened his eyes.

He was not in Grimmauld Place. He was not anywhere he knew. He was not dead, either, though he wished he were as sharp, piercing pain shot through him, starting somewhere near his throat. Someone was crying softly on his chest, and a hand was wrapped around his. He couldn't mistake that hair anywhere. Granger.

He starting trying to wriggle his hand out of her iron grip and suddenly she sat up, it looked like she'd been sleeping. And crying?

"Why," his voice sounded awful and raspy, "are you holding my hand?" She blinked at him, wonder in her shinning eyes.

"Have you, the 'brightest witch of our age' forgotten I am your beloved Dumbledore's murder?" It seems the girl, who spewed out words constantly, had lost her voice. All she did was stare. Snape was a little unnerved (how Dumbledore of her, to sit there while he spat acerbic things and simply study him like he had sprouted a second head. But instead of being horrified like a proper person, it was just interesting), so he changed tactics.

"Why am I not dead? Where am I?" he finally demanded, patience running very, very thin.

"You're in my parents' house," she finally popped out. "You're not dead. You ate a bezoar after you were … bitten." He arched an eyebrow at her.

"If you knew I had done that, why did you leave me for dead?" She had the decency to look guilty for a moment, then her expression hardened.

"I didn't know it at the time! I thought you were the enemy and there was a war going on. We had other places to be." She sounded bossy and irritated. This was the Gryffindor Princess he knew.

"Then why are you here?"

"Honestly, you're supposed to be a brilliant wizard." She cut herself off at her tones, then shrugged. She was no longer his student, she had just saved his life, and she had just helped win a war. So had he, but she brushed it aside, he had been unconscious through most of it. "I went back and saved you. When I had to give the aurors my memories, I saw you put something in your mouth and realized you might have tried to save yourself. So I went and found you, took you here, gave you blood replenishing potion, and sutured the bites. Don't touch the wrapping on them! You'll make yourself bleed more!" She admonished as his hand went instinctively toward his neck.

Snape blinked at her. Hermione Granger had saved him? Why was she here and not with the masculine part of the golden trio? He ought to be dead, not sitting in a bedroom in her parents' home.

"How had I not died from blood loss? I'm sure the war had lasted much longer and for you to only go back for me after the aurors were dealing with things …"

She looked uncomfortable. So, there was something she was hiding.

"I used the time turner. From my third year. I went back with Harry's cloak and waited till you had taken the bezoar and gone unconscious. Then I took you here. The war's been over for…" she glanced at the bedside clock, "about eight hours. I've been missing for two." She looked suddenly uncertain.

"You never asked who won."

"I assumed the light had if you had made it back here to save me."

Her mouth shaped itself into a small oh.

"Fred Weasley died. So did Crabbe. Remus and Tonks, both. Colin Creevy. More. Fifty more." He didn't know why she told him that, by the looks of it neither did she. He wanted to ask about the Malfoys, but decided he could find out later.

An awkward silence followed. She did not look at him, but Hermione could feel his eyes resting on her.

"So, what are you expecting to collect for your life debt? I have very little." His tone was bitter. She looked confused, then offended.

"Are you suggesting that I only helped you to get something from you?"

"Of course, Miss Granger. Even as a Gryffindor, you are capable of ulterior motives."

Her face contorted into an ugly expression, she was torn between hitting him and laughing. She chose laughter because she didn't want to make him start bleeding again. "How very Slytherin of you."

"And how Gryffindor of you to rush and save me. I was not worth your efforts."

"You're a hero, Professor. Harry told us what you did. I know what you've given up… what you've lost."

"Do not romanticize me into what I am not! After learning so much about me, it ought to have occurred to you I did not want to survive. I was supposed to die in this war! How dare you rob me of peace?!" His black eyes were shinning, wild and angry as he yelled at her like she was a first year. Tears were in her eyes, and he delighted at it. She was silent for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yours is a life worth saving, Professor. I'm sorry you don't feel the same." With that, Hermione stood, wiped her eyes, and started toward the door. She paused as she opened it, speaking without turning around.

"Like it or not, you are alive Professor Snape. I don't want anything from you for what I've done. Merlin knows you've saved us enough times as children to call it even. The vials of dreamless sleep and blood replenishing potion, which you need to take every hour, are all there if you need them. I will come back soon."

Then she was gone, and Severus Snape was alone in an unfamiliar and very muggle house. He reached for his wand, but it was not up his sleeve. Then he realized he was not wearing his frock, but his ripped undershirt. He saw it on a chair on the far side of the room, covered in dried blood. On the seat of his chair was his wand. He sighed in relief. At least that chit of a witch hadn't lost or broken it.

"Accio wand!" he said, and it was an effort to do that small bit of magic. He didn't realize how much he hurt. His throat felt like he had been drinking bubortuber pus. He felt dizzy, then everything was darkness.

***

He heard a strangled cry, a dull thump, and felt hands tenderly wrapping around his throat, pulling away the bandages. So, Hermione Granger was back. He tried to open his eyes, but it was very, very hard.

"Professor, don't move. You've started bleeding again. I told you to take the potion…" She sounded very worried. Maybe he would get to die after all. In his half conscious state, he felt disappointed. For him to have lived unexpectedly, to be free of everyone (except Granger) and then die a day later was not exactly what he wanted. He tried to open his eyes again, but failed once more.

She felt his mouth being opened. "Swallow this, if you can."

Warm, metallic tasting fluid slid down his throat and it wasn't until much later that he realized he had trusted her immediately, not checking for poison in any way.

***

Hermione wiped her brow. She had managed to stop the bleeding once more, but was uncertain how to proceed from there. She had borrowed all the medical books she could find in the library but hadn't had enough time to read them yet. Naigini's venom was causing this, she remembered all the symptoms from Mr. Weasley's attack. Those two identical puncture holes on his neck would not fully close. What had been the cure that saved Mr. Weasley?

At least she had temporarily stopped the bleeding for now. She raised her wand and cast an enervate. They still had things to discuss. Snape opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Professor. I think I need to take you to the Hospital Wing. Or St. Mungo's. They've done this before, probably have the right antidote. You won't stop bleeding and I just don't know enough to fix you." Snape pressed his lips into a thin line and arched an eyebrow.

"While I am impressed that the Gryffindor know-it-all finally admits to not knowing it all, I am going to refuse."

"What!? You'll die if you don't stop bleeding."

"Well, since you decided it was your place to save me, it is your job to save me entirely. I refuse to go to a place where people mistrust my alliances and may have an interest in me not surviving."

"So… you trust me not to kill you?"

"I trust you not to want to kill me. And I trust myself to know if you're about to fuck up and stop you." Hermione's heart skipped a beat. This was high praise indeed, regardless of how barbed.

"Well," she began, picking up the biggest medical tome she had, "Your wound will not close, this happened to Mr. Weasley already. Do you make an anti-venom for Nagini at any point?"

"Voldemort," she started, expecting Snatchers to surround them immediately. Snape gave her a quailing look and continued, "was very protective of his … familiar."

"Well, I suppose we'll have to cleanse your wounds with a better salve than I had from the Hospital Wing, all I could find was Murtlap. Maybe even a potion to cleanse your blood stream – you've been shaking when you're asleep – and I think a more advanced charm to mend the skin." Snape's eyes briefly glittered and her brain suggested, approval. She ignored it and plowed on, glad her mind has something to fully focus on beside the wreck of her life and the deaths of her friends.

"I've checked out several resources in the library, and I was hoping that you would help me discover the proper combination of cures?" She hated herself for sounding so uncertain. He merely inclined his head and held out a long, pale hand. She handed him a book and they read silently for a long time.

***

Snape broke the silence. He had immediately decided that the proper salve would be dittany, which he had in his stores. He would guide her to them when they knew what else she would need to brew. Of course, she'd broken in before (when she was twelve), but the less times she infiltrated his private stores and office, the better.

He was fairly certain he'd found the proper cleansing potion, fore ye pureity of bloode and being. It used a combination of ingredients he knew to be effective for cleansing and it would not try to make him a "pureblood" as so many potions he'd found so far had claimed.

He cleared his throat and looked over at Miss Granger, who was searching for a charm. She was slumped slightly, the book open in her hands. She wasn't wearing the look of concentration he had seen on her earlier, but her face had relaxed as she slept. Snape didn't have it in him to reprimand her (what was wrong with him! He must truly be near death's door), he doubted she'd had more than a few hours sleep in the past few days and though the war was won, he struggles were not over. He decided to let her, if only for a little while, and he would create a list of the ingredients they would need for his potion.

Before reaching for his wand to summon paper and a pen (he doubted very much the presence of parchment in her muggle home), his eyes lingered on her. He had not taken the time to study the girl; but he knew she didn't look how he remembered her (though he more clearly recollects her when she was eleven than when she was sixteen). He realized that she was eighteen now, but she looked much older. Her face had the beginning of hard lines, for which she would have the war to thank. Each one reflected her years of worrying over her friends, her family, herself. There were also lines from her determination, her drive to be the best and to win. He admired these lines, but hated them for being where they did not yet belong. Her small face was hard, her body much too thin. She had gone from being a rather healthy and well-fed teenage girl to a woman who was all bones and angles. He wondered if she'd been eating enough. Her hair was also changed, still a great mess, but somehow it had lost its vitality. Her curls had lost their spring, like her hair was part of her spirit and something was waning. Something was not right with Miss Granger, and it troubled him.

Angry for being so bothered, he summoned the papers and began to write.