Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

TWO

FEBRUARY 23, SEVENTH YEAR

Hermione was packing up some extra parchment and quills when she heard Malfoy descend from his room. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"I heard that your father was broken out of Azkaban. Is that true?" She asked. In front of her was a copy of the Prophet, a five by five block of pictures depicting escaped Death Eaters. The escape had happened sometime in the last month, and only now was the public being informed. Malfoy, Dolohov, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Avery, Greyback, and several others.

"What business is it of yours, Granger?" Malfoy hissed. "I didn't think you the sort to listen to rumors, Head Girl."

Hermione took a deep breath before she continued. "Well I hope that these rumors are true. No one deserves to be locked in that place, especially without a trial."

Malfoy stared at her. Hermione couldn't look him in the eye and instead focused on the serpentine green and gold pattern on the carpet. "It's taken me a long time to say this, and it's extremely difficult to, so please hear me out."

He didn't speak so she continued.

"I don't blame you for what happened last year. Umbridge was an abusive, oppressive woman, and if she had found you being soft, she might have hurt you or someone close to you to keep you I line. I saw you keeping her away from some first years who were Squibs. I know you aren't heartless. Mean and bitter sometimes, at least to me and mine, but not heartless. What Umbridge made you do went beyond schoolyard bullying, and even though you couldn't stand up to it, I know you didn't always want to do the things you did.

"Your father was at the Department of Mysteries. I know that, there's no denying. I saw him with my own eyes. I also saw him only using minor hexes and jinxes, because we were children. He was guilty, but he still deserved a fair trial. I'm sure that he was only doing what he had to. It isn't fair that you were not allowed to see him, or that he wasn't allowed to be in the court when they decided his fate. Even then, it shouldn't have been a life sentence.

"I just wanted to let you know that I forgive you, and ask you to tell your father the same, please. You have a clean slate with me, the both of you."

Hermione turned back to packing her bag, but before she could escape through the portrait in mortification, she heard a small voice ask her-

"How?"

"'Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,'" Hermione said. "It isn't right to receive and not give."

"You know the Lord's Prayer?" Malfoy seemed surprised. "You know the Way?"

Hermione nodded, confused. "I'm Catholic."

"So are my family. Most of Slytherin, for that matter." Malfoy stood sheepishly in the middle of the room, his feet shuffling as his eyes darted to her and back to the floor. "Thank you. I didn't think I wanted or needed forgiveness, but I did. So thank you. I'll tell my father what you said." Draco shifted again. "Antonin Dolohov. He had been recently broken out of Azkaban and had to use his stepfather's wand. They didn't get along, he was an abusive man. He had only meant to hit you with a paper-cut jinx on you knuckles."

"I forgive him as well. I think I should tell him myself though, whenever that may happen." Hermione was thoughtful. "I'm having a harder time forgiving your aunt, but I know she isn't in her right mind. I've read several of her editorials and journals she published when she was younger. She was a brilliant woman. I don't know her well enough to make a judgment on her character, but I'm trying."

"There was an infection that afflicted the Dark Lord in his last year, before that Halloween. He had taken a Fortification Serum, and the ergot in it was out of proportion to the other ingredients."

"Ergot poisoning?" Hermione slapped her hand against her forehead. "No wonder all of his reasoning slipped downhill. Let me guess, he took Fortification Serum often, to keep up with everything he was doing and to keep himself together after all of the contact he had with Dark artifacts?"

"And because he had a connection to his followers, and some of them used the same potion-"

"The mental poisoning spread. Oh, Malfoy, I'm so sorry your family had to deal with that."

"It's alright, we're lucky it was only a handful of people. Most of the ranks got it, but only the ones allergic to the antidote were left untreated. They had to be weaned off of the potion. The Dark Lord was too volatile to get near at that point in time, and by the time we had found an alternative solution, it was too late."

"How awful." Hermione frowned. Ergot poisoning and magic. The Salem Witch Trials had been chaotic enough in a Muggle town. Ergot poisoning in a wizard or witch was a thousand times worse, forget it affecting an entire political party. A political party who included those raised around racism, bias, discrimination…and werewolves, and vampires, and giants…

"Aunt is getting better. It affected her pretty severely, as she was already a little off. Bipolar depression, and several miscarriages. Then, when she was finally able to carry a baby to term, her daughter- my cousin- died at only a few minutes, before she could even be christened. The Healers prescribed Fortifying Serum, and, well, you know the rest."

In the distance, they heard the seven o'clock bell ring.

"We'd best get to breakfast." They said at the same time. The two chuckled nervously as they stepped outside of the portrait into the empty hallway.

"I'll see you in classes, then?" Draco asked quietly.

"See you then." Hermione skipped off towards Gryffindor Tower to meet her friends.

OoOoOoOoO

Breakfast was not going according to Hermione's hopeful plans. Ronald was a boor, as usual. Harry smiled mutely on as Ginny and Lavender chirped like annoying little birds. Hermione was ignored.

It was alright, though, she had brought along a book. It was Villette, by Charlotte Brontë. She had read a review on it stating that many said that it was better than her Jane Eyre, and Hermione couldn't believe it until it was true. So far though, it seemed promising.

Two shadows fell over her. Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore stood directly behind her.

"Good morning, professors," she said with a small smile as she turned back to her book. She assumed that they wanted to talk to Harry, and she was butted out anyway. She would rather read.

"Miss Granger, what are you reading?" Professor McGonagall asked. Hermione didn't catch the tightness of her tone.

"Oh, it's a Muggle novel, Professor. A classic. I just got it over break, and I haven't had a chance to read it until now."

"A novel?" The Headmaster asked with grandfatherly befuddlement. "A work of fiction? I'm surprised, Miss Granger. You're always so studious."

Hermione did, however, catch the Headmaster's disappointment. A seed of anxiety planted itself in her mind.

"I thought it might be a nice change. It's a good story," Hermione said quietly. She felt the book plucked from her grasp before she saw the Headmaster's hand.

"I'm afraid that any books which cannot be found in the school library must be read by a Professor before they can be read by a student. Unfortunately, Miss Granger, most Muggle literature falls in that category." He flipped through the book carelessly, bending the pages and scraping off the nice gilded edges with his thumbnail as he did so. Hermione felt like she might swallow her tongue. How dare he mistreat her book? But he's the Headmaster! "Did you bring any more books back with you, Miss Granger?"

"Some books I had seen in the library that I wanted my own copies of," she answered in semi-truth. "I like to annotate, and I can't do that with a school copy."

Hermione had brought back a dozen or more Muggle books, and now she would have to hide them, she was sure. But how to go about it? He would surely catch her trying to go back to her dormitory between classes.

Draco. Potions.

"Oh, there's the Miss Granger I know," Professor McGonagall said, chucking Hermione's chin. Hermione felt like a child who had been asked to give away a well -deserved cookie and been compensated by a pat on the head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Miss Granger. I look forward to your thoughts on Inanimate Transformations in that essay!"

Hermione grimaced a smile at the Professor and watched the Headmaster walk away with her book.

As soon as the Professors were gone, Ron, Ginny, and Lavender all snorted into their food with laughter.

"You look like someone took away your meal, and not a book!" Ron chortled.

Harry, at least, was a little sympathetic. "Don't worry, Hermione, you'll have it back by the end of the week, I'm sure."

Unable to bear his obliged sympathy in combination with the teasing the others were giving to her, Hermione stood and left for Potions.

OoOoOoOoO

"Draco?" Hermione asked. She was the only Gryffindor in the room so far, but Draco and a few of his cronies were there. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and the older Greengrass girl.

"Yes?" He asked.

"I…I need to ask you a favor." Hermione asked embarrassedly. "The Headmaster just confiscated a book of mine, because it's a Muggle novel, and I think he's going to search my room. Could you, maybe, help me hide them?"

"I'll do you one better. Bookish!" A House Elf with a potato-shaped nose in a well kept purple dishcloth popped into the room. "This is a family Elf, he's here at Hogwarts for…someone else, though. Bookish, do you think you could put Miss Granger's Muggle books somewhere the Headmaster won't find them?"

"I be certain I can," said Bookish. "So this is Head Girl Hermione Granger."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Bookish. Thank you for helping me." Hermione had long since gotten over her obsession with freeing the House Elves and was instead as courteous as she could be.

"Hmph. Miss must stand straighter, looks like a bent dandelion." Hermione stood straighter and smiled at the Elf. "Hmph. She does well, maybe. Must talk to Poppet about the Head Girl's hair, though. Bookish likes you well enough. Books be gone in a moment."

With a snap, the Elf was gone.

"That was…unexpected. Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome…Hermione." Draco shook his head and then paused, suddenly aware of shuffling outside the door. "To your seat then. Double time!"

Just as Hermione sat down, the rest of the class filed in. Hermione could feel Draco and his crew staring at her now and then, but she pushed any discomfort she had aside.

Neville was sweet enough to partner with her before Harry and Ron could. She would no doubt be correcting his mistakes for a large part of the morning, but he tried his best, bless him, whereas Ron was lazy and Harry wasn't the best for detail.

Professor Snape stalked into the room. "You will be working on the preparations for a very difficult Potion for the next classes. This potion is not only volatile to brew, but it is also toxic if mis-brewed, and poisonous if not taken in the correct dosage. If I had my way, you would not be brewing this potion at all, but apparently my opinion as a Master of Potions is unimportant to a board of people who can't eve brew a Draught of Peace."

"Big head, much?" Harry snorted to Ron.

"Five points from Gryffindor. Onwards," he flipped his own book up to the correct page. "Turn to page 437."

The class was slow, slower than usual. Every few sentences, he stopped and made them write down what was important. This was by far the most detailed they had ever gone into the preparation of a potion. Naturally, not even halfway into the class, most of the Gryffindors were blatantly ignoring the Professor while some of the Slytherins seemed to space out and come to in intervals.

"For this potion, you will number off into groups of two. However, since this potion is finicky enough that it notices changes in the gender magic of it's makers, Miss Granger will be paired with Miss Parkinson and Miss Greengrass, as they are the only females in the class."

After everyone else had paired up, Hermione moved to sit by the other two girls.

"Hi Pansy. Hi Daphne."

"Hermione," the girls said together.

"Draco said you offered him forgiveness. Is that true?" Daphne whispered.

"'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,'" was all Hermione said with a small smile. "That's come to mean a lot to me recently."

"May I ask?" Pansy murmured.

"I'm not really comfortable talking about it yet. Let's just say that someone I love very much betrayed my trust, but it hurt me more to stay angry at them." Hermione looked very sad for a moment. She tried very hard not to get sucked back into the pain and humiliation of that day…"Let's work on our project, shall we?"

By the end of class, Hermione and the girls had agreed to meet after classes in Hermione's room, unless Draco didn't mind them using the sitting room of their shared quarters.

"Stupid Snape, pairing me up with Goyle," Harry complained. "He kept asking about our practice schedule for Quidditch, and talking about his free blocks."

"Zabini was the same," Ron snarked.

"Boys," Hermione said as she spun around and faced them. "Did it occur to you that they were trying to find a day when you could meet to work on the project? They gave you their free blocks to let you know when they were available, and they asked about Quidditch so that they could know when you were busy."

"More likely they were trying to find out when they could steal the pitch," Ron snapped before Harry could be allowed to see reason. Harry, as he always did, automatically sided with Ron without thinking.

"Why are you defending them, Mione?" Ron asked accusingly. "You got paired with Parkinson and that Greengrass bitch. It's not like they were any different."

"Oh, sorry Ron," Hermione hissed, "I didn't remember that you were in our group, giving input and following the conversation so closely. In fact, I was under the impression that you were focused on you own project! Listen, I've had a really tough day already, I've had to do some really difficult stuff I put off for far too long, I've been overloaded with information, and on top of that, I have to deal with extra work for Professor McGonagall and I'm waiting for answers from three universities. I really, really don't need your antagonism right now, so please, please keep your prejudices to yourself for twenty four hours!"

Hermione rushed away from them, ignoring their calls.

"MIONE!" Ron finally yelled, angry.

"AND DON'T CALL ME MIONE!"

Hermione rounded a corner and found the nearest alcove. She cast a silencing charm and a notice-me-not charm and allowed herself a small tantrum. She screamed shrilly and kicked the wall and tugged at her hair and let a few sobs escape. She rested her head against her fists on the wall and took a few calming breaths.

"Is something troubling you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun around. "Professor Snape!" She was mortified. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! I didn't know you were in here- wait, how are you in here? I thought you were in the classroom? Never mind, sorry sir. It's just-" she looked at her watch, "10:00 a.m. and I'm already ready for the day to be over."

Hermione put a hand on her hip and clutched her rosary around her neck, closing her eyes and taking calming breaths. "Please forgive me for my outburst, Sir."

A cool, long hand touched hers, and she found herself dropping her rosary into his, looking up at his eyes like a dear in the headlights.

"Who is your patron saint?" He asked quietly.

"Thomas Aquinas." Hermione answered automatically.

He took her by her wrist and guided her to the back wall of the alcove. Pressing her palm to the wall he nodded to her.

"Saint Thomas Aquinas," Hermione said again.

The long slab of marble in the wall shifted, shrank, molded, and expanded until it was an altar with an image of the saint on a plaque behind it. Hermione gasped and stared as a single candle lit itself and others appeared, waiting.

"Hogwarts was built a thousand years ago, when everyone, whether they were Pureblooded or Muggleborn, was of the church. In the last fifty years or so, efforts have been made to convert Hogwarts to an agnostic point of view, but the castle protects itself. A school is a place of worship as much as a church. We come here to learn, to think, and to progress. Knowledge is holy, Miss Granger," he said as he looked at the patron saint of scholars. "If it were not worth pursuing, God would not have left it unknown to us for us to find."

"Yes," Hermione breathed. In the altar candlelight, the Professor seemed…different…somehow…more sentient, and stronger, more impassioned…

Hermione snapped her eyes to the alter and focused. Now was not the time for schoolgirl crushes.

She couldn't afford that luxury.

"Now is your free period, I believe?"

"Yes."

"You may remain here, if you like. I'll step out. But…you should know…other Professors are not as understanding about such things. It is very important that the Headmaster not know how to find these shrines."

"He hates it, doesn't he?"

"Faith? No, he loves faith when it's invested properly. Invested in his cause and in him. Invested in 'the Light,' and not the truth or the way." The Professor's voice was bitter and angry. "I'm trusting you to keep this place, and any other place you find now that you know how, a secret from your friends. Such places are sacred, and do not need the interference of others coming to gawk."

"I understand, Sir. Thank you," Hermione smiled.

He bowed to her and stepped out of the alcove.

Hermione looked once again at the shrine and placed her hand on the cool marble. "Please, can I see the Holy Mother?"

The image of Thomas Aquinas bowed his head and made a sign of the cross to her. She bowed her own head in thanks as his bronze plaque was replaced by a silver image of Mother Mary. Hermione knelt and picked up the lit candle. She said a name as she lit each one.

"Mum…Dad…Harry…Ron…Ginny…Fred…George…Draco…Bellatrix…Dumbledore…" She hovered over the last candle. "Severus."

She did not hear the gasp around the corner.

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, blessed art though among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us poor sinners now and at the hour of our deaths, Amen.

"God, I don't understand. I'm trying so hard, but it hurts so much. Why did he try to do that? Why would he say those things, why would he put his hands on me like that? Why wouldn't the Headmaster help me? Father, I don't understand, and I'm trying so hard. I've forgiven him, but I'm still afraid. I've forgiven Draco and his family, and Dolohov, and I'm trying, God, I'm trying to forgive the Dark Lord, because he wasn't in his right mind. But I'm still afraid. I know I shouldn't be, and I know that anything that there are no coincidences, and that You will always catch me, that you don't give anyone anything they can't handle, but I am completely overwhelmed.

"I'm trying so hard to trust you, God, and it isn't easy when there are so many people who seem so good and then betray me. But bless them anyway.

"Bless Harry, please. He's really good, but he isn't standing up for himself. Make him the leader he's supposed to be.

"Bless Ron, let his temper cool a bit. His words are hurting him more than me.

"Bless Ginny, God. She's beautiful the way she is, but the way she goes on you wouldn't know it. Help her see that she doesn't have to put herself out like that. Help Lavender see that, too.

"Bless Fred and George. They're business is going so well, and I'm sure you're proud of them, but I think they are becoming confused as to what they believe in. Help them find the path you've set out for them.

"Bless the Headmaster. He isn't a good man, I don't think, but he is a great one, and that means a lot of people look up to him. Please make him a good example to follow, not a false prophet.

"Bless Draco. He's young, and I know he's scared of the fight that's to come, but he's becoming his own man in the process. Help him be the man you want him to be.

"Bless Bellatrix, too, please. She has had a hard life, in spite of all the gifts you have given her. I know that it has made her angry, but please don't let it embitter her.

"Bless Mum and Dad. Let business go well for them. You…you know how important it is to the. Please let them be proud of me some day.

"Thank you for Professor Snape. He's a good man, and he'll be a great one someday, I know it. Help him see that he's more important than even he knows. Help him stay strong, and true to himself. I would rather him be on the other side of the line and confident in his faith and his values than standing by the Headmaster, unhappy and torn. Bless him, please bless him. Make him be happy. He deserves it.

"Amen."

OoOoOoOoO

Severus pressed himself against the wall as Hermione left the alcove and went in the opposite direction. As soon as she had rounded the corner, he clawed to loosen his cravat and stumbled out of breath into the alcove. He slammed his hands on the blank marble.

"Joseph, Husband of Mary," he gasped.

The saint appeared.

"Is it her? Is she the one? Is it her?"

The saint on his silver plaque looked skyward.

Severus pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His student?

He had been praying for days. Weeks. Months. Years. Since he had seen Potter come into the Great Hall for his sorting, he had been longing. It had hit him like a ton of bricks that if those foul words had not left his lips, Harry would have been his son. His son. He wanted sons. He wanted daughters. He wanted a wife. So he had prayed, and prayed, and prayed for God to show him the one that He had designed for him.

Hermione Granger had taken his breath away with her prayer. How long had it been since someone had prayed for him? Narcissa, he knew, prayed for him along with her family, a few friends included him when he was present for a family prayer, but, for him, just for him, to be what God wanted him to be?

His mother had prayed for his father every day. Sometimes it worked, for months on end. At the end of her life, Severus had confessed to her his fear that he would mistreat his wife or children as Tobias had done.

"Never doubt the power of a praying wife," his mother had said. At that moment his father had stumbled drunk into the room, crawling up into the bed with his frail wife, bawling like a babe against her shoulder as he begged her not to leave him.

She was dead by morning.

Tobias Snape died hours later of a head wound from when the coroners had to forcibly remove him from her body. In true Snape fashion, the great bull of a man had taken down three other men before he succumbed.

Tobias had turned his head to his son, who was restrained by other personnel.

"Sev? I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry." That was the moment he had known his father was dying. He hadn't called him 'baby' since he was eight or so.

They were buried together beneath a single tombstone: Tobias Abram Snape, and wife Eileen Corrine Prince. 'Never doubt the power of a praying wife.'

His father had loved his mother. He knew that. He didn't doubt his father's love for his mother, not when he cried when he realized he'd hurt her, not when he broke down completely the one time she had tried to leave him, not when he remembered birthdays and anniversaries better than Christmas. He tried. He tried, and he failed, but he tried. And Eileen had never given up on him.

He didn't want a woman like his mother, per say, but he wanted a woman who could love as deeply and fully and as strongly as his mother.

But was it his student?

"Father," he begged. "Help me."