"Betrayal is the only truth that sticks."

- Arthur Miller


Chapter 7



Hermione sat in brightly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place, looking around a little aimlessly. She had spoken very little since she arrived, dropped nearly everything she touched while helping to set the table for breakfast, and stuck to Ginny like glue. Her friends seemed slightly unnerved by her despondent behavior, casting curious glances in her direction when they assumed she wasn't looking. She, for her part, had been uncharacteristically quiet and rather helpless all morning until Kobic, the Potter's black owl, dropped off the morning copy of the Daily Prophet.

Oh, Merlin, she thought, wringing the hem of her robe as the blood began to pound in her ears. This is it.

She had gotten a hold of the morning's Prophet before she Apparated to Harry and Ginny's for breakfast. It was with a heavy churn in the pit of her stomach that she observed Harry beneath thick, curly hair. She knew it would later be one of the Prophet's biggest stories; the triumphant report that Severus Snape had, in a shocking turn of events, survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry, for his part, immediately set about to reading the paper, holding up his forehead with one hand and unfolding the paper with the other while Ron continued to relay tales of the tragic plight of the Chudley Cannons. The strange glances Ron cast in Hermione's direction each time she fumbled the china did not go lost on her and she, none too forcefully, stood and backed surreptitiously toward the corner wall of the kitchen until there was a stagnant, prickly silence.

And then she watched as Harry gripped the paper tightly and leaned forward, and Hermione knew it was the moment that things would tip over, spill down and stain everything. She watched the comprehension of what he was reading seep into his face and noticed something shadowed in his eyes as he swallowed and his mouth dropped open.

Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I know what it feels like to have the world go mad around you.

Ron had stopped speaking mid-sentence when he, too, took in the subtle differences of Harry's posture. After all this time, Ron, Hermione thought as her heart pounded loudly in her ears, you've finally learned to notice things beyond the obvious.

"The recruiting is going to be hell," Ron was saying, "After all, how do you market a team that's finished bottom of their division for the past -- you all right there, mate?"

Harry had looked up from the paper for the slightest of moments, glanced back down, and then back up again. Hermione's heart was beginning to race against her ribcage. Harry sat wide-eyed and pale, searching the paper as though he didn't trust his own reading abilities. "Bloody hell," he whispered finally, and Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. "Snape's alive."

Ginny and Ron both looked at him strangely, as though they hadn't heard correctly.

"What?"

Harry looked up with unreadable eyes. "Snape is alive," he clarified after several moments of silence, his voice unsteady.

There was a subsequent clatter of pans colliding mid-air and benches being ground along the kitchen floor as Ron pushed backward and stood up and Ginny simultaneously whirled around with wide, startled eyes. "Bullocks," said Ron in disbelief, though he eyed the Prophet warily when Harry did nothing further to elaborate. "That's - that's what it says in the Prophet? That Snape's alive?" And then he turned to Ginny, "What's the date today? Is it some kind of joke -- a sick joke?"

Ginny had rushed over to sit beside her husband. She looked up at Ron as she placed an unsteady hand on Harry's shoulder and said in exasperated tones, "It's not April Fools Day, Ron," she snapped, "as you very well know."

"Then what?" he asked, trying to lean his long body over the table to catch a glance at the paper. "It has to be some kind of rotten joke. We saw the greasy git die!"

Harry, only seeming to just hear the commotion of the others, shook his head slowly, his eyes still tracking the text on the front page. "No," he said in a quiet voice, his trembling hands shaking the pages as Ron desperately tried to read the headline, "no, it -- it says that he approached McGonagall yesterday at Howarts to ask about the Defense Against the Dark Arts post -- that he wants to teach again."

Ron, still on his feet, yanked at his ginger hair with one hand. "But...he hated teaching, didn't he? And how the ruddy hell is he alive? We all saw him die! Remember all the blood? And his eyes -- "

"Ron!" Ginny admonished, looking as though she might be sick. "Please, spare me the details." She turned to Harry, "Does it say anything about how he could have survived? Or better yet," she added practically, "has anyone of merit actually corroborated and vouched that they have seen him alive?"

Harry looked very much like a brick had slid down through his chest and into his stomach. His green eyes scanned further down the paper until he shook his head mutely. "McGonagall has," he said numbly. "It just says that he had been attacked by Nagini at the Battle of Hogwarts but that the details of his escape and survival are undetermined at this point."

Ron snorted ungraciously. "So he's just been in hiding then for, what? Seven years? I'm damned surprised Skeeter didn't make up her own version of where he's been after what she wrote about Hermione."

And then Harry's gaze flicked up at Hermione for the first time since he had taken the Prophet into his hands, his green eyes enormous behind his massive prescription.

Pointing to the paper and only just managing to keep his voice steady, he said, "You knew."

Hermione blinked, trying to find her voice.

After an uncomfortable silence, Ron said awkwardly, "Come off it, Harry. She couldn't have known."

Hermione was silent. She could see the anger and betrayal swimming in Harry's eyes and felt a momentary flash of guilt. She had moved quickly over to the stove when Ginny had rushed toward Harry, stilling the clattering pots and pans while managing to salvage what was left of the bacon.

Harry turned the paper to her so she could fully read the headline, pointing again to Severus Snape's face with a shaky index finger, almost as though he didn't trust himself to speak. She looked down at it briefly, and then back up, and sighed deeply. She was, to Harry's horror, utterly unsurprised. "Yes, Harry," she managed. "I knew."

There were two subsequent gasps.

Ron looked over at her as though he had never seen her before, his mouth wide and gaping; Ginny's eyes widened dramatically as she covered her mouth with an unsteady hand, and Harry -- Harry's green eyes flashed dangerously from behind perfectly rounded spectacles.

Hermione felt herself take an unconscious step backwards.

"How -- " Ron started, but was cut off as Harry shot up from the bench. "Hermione," he ground out, trying for her sake to keep his anger in check. "You knew Snape was alive and you didn't think that any of us might want to know about it?" he gestured to himself, "That I might want to know about it?"

She looked up at him with helpless affection. "Harry, I'm sorry. I truly am." She spread her arms out in front of her. "But it wasn't my secret to tell."

Harry looked as though she had stunned him. "Yours to tell?" he echoed, and there was a deranged glint in his green eyes. "I had a right to know, Hermione, and you damn well know it!"

Hermione looked over at him, genuinely startled. Oh, she knew he would react with anger once he learned she had known about Severus' secret and hadn't told him; but she had dealt with an enraged Harry before. What caught her off guard and left her momentarily at a loss was the uncontrolled pent-up rage and, of all things, betrayal reflecting in his eyes.

Do you really think, Harry, I would ever betray you?

She blinked. "Harry -- "

But he was already storming over to her with such force that the kitchen floor literally trembled beneath his feet. Like some primitive, instinctual reflex, she drew her wand, keenly aware that the relatively warm, temporary world she had lived in for the past several weeks was crumbling around her with each step that brought him closer.

For one frightening, absurd moment, she thought he might actually strike her.

"I had a right to know, Hermione!" Harry screamed again, pointing a finger at her in dire accusation. "The whole Wizarding world believes him dead but for you and you choose not to tell me?" Never before that she seen him lose control like this; he looked rather demented. Ron immediately extricated himself from the bench and came to stand between the two. He gave Harry an odd look.

"Calm down, mate," Ron said with outstretched hands. "Go cool off a bit."

"I will not calm down!" Harry snapped at Ron. "If anyone deserves to know about Snape, it's me! And you both damn well know it!"

Ginny, who had been pale and quiet on the opposite bench during the entire exchange, raised an eyebrow. "Harry, what are you talking -- "

But Hermione was coming from around Ron's tall form, her right hand still firmly wrapped around her wand. "Harry, if you'd just listen, I can explain -- "

"Listen to what, Hermione?" He paused and looked at her, looking for guilt, a hesitation, a handle. "That you went behind my back like some bloody Slytherin? I trusted you and you lied to me!"

Looking back at him, brown eyes wide and half-shocked, Hermione felt very much like he had hit her.

"You're a rotten bastard, you know that, Harry?" she choked, realizing with a small amount of shame that her eyes were filling with tears. "Does it mean nothing to you that I gave the man my word? For weeks this has been pressing on me, you great git! Weeks! What would my motive be to keep such a thing from you? What would I gain from that, Harry?"

Harry, too, had drawn his wand, though to do what, Hermione wasn't certain. His green eyes darkened. "I don't know, Hermione. You tell me. What have you gained?"

Without thinking, Hermione raised her wand and started toward him, but Ron pulled her roughly to his side, trying to position himself between her and Harry. "Let go of me, Ron!" she shouted, but he didn't. Ron went so far as to wrestle the vinewood out of her clenched hand.

"Give that back to me, Ron!"

"Stop it!" Ginny cried, rushing over and pulling back on Harry's arm, who was moving toward both Ron and Hermione. "All of you, stop this right now!"

Harry in his anger looked more frightening than ever, his Auror's robes flowing down his body and demanding absolute authority. He raised his wand slowly, his blazing eyes seeing nothing in the room but Hermione.

"You're out of line, mate," Ron hollered as he struggled with Hermione, carefully positioning her so as to avoid being elbowed in the ribs. "Go out to the drawing room and cool off."

"Come with me, Harry," Ginny pleaded in a small voice, wrapping both hands around his elbow and tugging him backwards through the doorway. "Ron's right. Just come calm down for a bit."

Hermione felt strangely nauseous as she watched Ginny pull Harry away, her chest heaving with too-big breaths and she continued to struggle against Ron.

"Hermione," said Ron, once Harry and Ginny had disappeared through the doorway. He pinned both of her arms to her side. "Calm down, alright? It's over."

The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene. The Daily Prophet was still lying on the table, Severus Snape's face scowling up at the ceiling with seemingly intense dislike. Ron still had a firm grip on each of Hermione's arms, his large hands holding her in place as she breathed heavily, refusing to meet his gaze.

Her voice was a slight bit calmer when she said, "Let me go, Ron."

He gave her a wry side-long smile, and the freckles near his eyes stretched slightly. "I'd be happy do that, love," he said in too cheerful tones, "but I'd prefer if you didn't kill Harry just now. He's my best mate and brother-in-law, you see. I'd be rather bored if he were dead."

She scowled and pulled back against his grip, furiously and futility. "Ronald," -- and he knew her patience with him was spent -- "stop manhandling me this instant! How am I meant to kill Harry if you've stolen my wand away?" But his massive grip was still on either of her arms. She felt a childish desire to kick at him.

But he let her go, abruptly, in mutual grim silence.

And then there was a crash of something breaking in the drawing room. Jerking her head up, Hermione vaguely wondered which of Ginny's lamps Harry had destroyed in his tirade.

"Well," said Ron, in a dreadful attempt to lighten the mood, "that doesn't sound to me as though he's taken my advice to calm down."

Hermione humphed. "He's being absolutely ridiculous." She crossed her arms so tightly across her chest that Ron wondered if they would be stuck in a permanent knot. And then she began pacing the length of the kitchen with enough intensity to wear away the floorboards. Her arms, evidently, had found a way out of their knot, as they were waving wildly through the air. "He's acting as though I've betrayed our friendship," she said in disbelief, pausing briefly in front of Severus' picture, her brown eyes flicking down to him. "As if I had any choice in the matter! All I did was keep my word, Ron, and I'm not at all sorry for it!"

"I know, Hermione," said Ron. He had that neutral, careful, nonthreatening tone that one uses with the hysterical. "It's just a shock for him, is all." He scratched the back of his ginger hair. "For all of us, really."

And then, as if he couldn't help himself, he shook his head and walked over to the Prophet and picked it up cautiously, as though it might actually bite him. "Blimey," he said with incredulity after a moment, "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Snape being alive?"

Hermione sighed, suddenly deflated. She slumped down on the kitchen bench, looking at the invisible dirt under her fingernails. She knew what her friends must be feeling. She had felt what it was like to have your paradigms rocked so fully that you could barely stand upright any longer. "Yeah," she muttered. "It is."

Ron continued to peruse the paper under suspicious eyes. "But there was so much blood," he mused aloud, sitting down next to her and turning a page. The bench bowed with his added weight. "I wonder how he survived." And then he asked hesitantly, looking down at her, "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Hermione shook her head, involuntarily recalling that horrible night and the dead look in Severus' eyes when she, too, had assumed he was dead. "No."

A crack shot though the air; they both jumped and turned to look at the wall behind them. Though Hermione's trained eye couldn't ascertain any damage on this side of the wall, she was quite confident the drawing room was now sporting a severely bruised drywall.

"I simply cannot believe he still refuses to control his temper," she scowled, her own anger flaring. She glared at the offending wall as though it might implode.

Ron shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, well, its a little close to home for him, isn't it?" He folded the paper and tossed it casually onto the table. "With Snape loving his Mum and all."

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped, whirling on him. Her narrowed eyes searched his robes for where he could have stored her wand. "I'm not a fool, Ron! I understand perfectly well that this is all rather personal for Harry, but it still does not change the fact that I gave Severus my word," she fumed irritably, folding her arms. "He's acting as though I have some sort of personal vendetta against him. That this is some sort of betrayal." And then her face sunk as she bowed her head and almost whispered, "He... he thinks that I would betray him. After...everything."

Ron stood in the silence of the kitchen, pondering over his friend's use of Snape's first name. "Hermione," he said softly, when he took in the despair of her voice.

She looked up at him mutely, her arms now wrapped around her midsection. "How...how could he think that?"

He walked over to her then, wrapping her in a great hug. Hermione, for her part, merely stood there, her arms still wrapped around herself. "He doesn't mean it like that, Hermione. You know that. He's just upset, is all. He'll calm down in a bit. You'll see."

She nodded numbly against him, the top of her head only just reaching his chest.

"I think," she sub-vocalized after a moment, "I'm going to go."

"Okay," said Ron. He smiled down at her, but it didn't reach his eyes like it usually did. He was surprisingly silent, searching her face for something. Though she was, she realized, while looking up at him in silence, thrumming with tension.

"I'll walk you to the door."

Hermione followed numbly in Ron's wake, careful to avoid the drawing room. Looking down at her feet as they moved methodically over the floorboards, she didn't know what to think. Harry's own reaction to what he perceived to be a betrayal by her, felt like a literal betrayal on his part. Had she not proved her loyalties to him from the time they were eleven? Hadn't she been the one to save his arse on more than one occasion? And wasn't it she who practically dragged him through his studies to get, at the very least, acceptable grades so he could become an Auror?

Suddenly, she felt enraged. How dare he accuse her of betrayal when she had been nothing but loyal to him for the past fourteen years. How dare he question the validity of her word! She had sworn to him, once, to keep silent about Horcruxes, to put her faith blindly in him and step forward into something she hadn't planned for, that she didn't understand. How was her promise to Severus any different?

More than anything, she realized sadly, as she felt the tears stinging her eyes, it hurt.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, once they had reached the threshold. "You okay?"

She saw the distress in his face as she swallowed and said nothing.

And he must have seen the devastation in her eyes, too deeply stricken even for anger. So instead of answering him, she asked, "Can I have my wand?"

He blinked. "Hermione -- "

"Ron," she said, with a trembling intensity that pinned him to the threshold, "give me my wand."

He looked down at her in alarm, taken aback. But he reached into his Auror's robes anyway, pulling her vinewood from a secure pocket, and reached out to hand it to her. "Hermione," he said softly, gravely, rubbing the back of his neck, "Please don't think on it. You know Harry loves you -- , yes," he emphasized when he watched her roll her eyes, "he does. And you know him almost better than anyone. You know he'll come around. And the great twat will apologize to you when he does."

Hermione was looking at her wand, running her fingertips shakily over the intricate carving of the shaft. Somewhere it registered in the back of her mind that what Ron was saying was true. Seven years ago, she thought with a small amount of trepidation, he never would have been this damned reasonable. She had always been the reasonable one. She shook her head as she remembered hitting Rita Skeeter.

At what point did our roles reverse?

She sighed and turned to open the door, not wanting her every worry to rub off on poor Ron.

"Hermione," he said firmly, taking her hand as she pushed the door open. His blue eyes startled her with the depth of concern she saw there. "You're alright?" he asked. And then in an attempt to lighten the mood, he said with a small smile, leaning forward, "I could take the day off, you know. I have a shocking amount of authority inside the Auror Department."

Hermione couldn't help it; in the tension of the early morning, she chuckled lightly, swatting at him with her free hand. "While that is rather shocking, Ronald, I'd rather you didn't abuse your power on me."

He tilted his head to the side, and there was a shade of that old gleam in his eye. "You're sure about that? Harry will have to make up the slack..."

Hermione laughed out loud. "Go to work, Ron. I'll be fine. I need to get back to Hogwarts."

He stood there, watching her with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his robes as she skipped lightly down the front steps. "Hermione?" he asked with quiet sincerity, and she turned to look back at him. "How did you know? That Snape was alive, I mean."

She hesitated. In that moment, Severus' face flashed to the forefront of her mind and she felt a strange chill spread throughout her body. His sacrifice had, quite literally, touched her to her core. The determination in his dark eyes when he said he would leave all else behind, if only to offer what knowledge and experience he could to help the Order made her heart sink.

Oh, Severus, she had wanted to say to him. You know what they'll do to you now. That freedom and solitude you've so longed for will be all but impossible for the rest of your days.

For lack of a better word, it felt...wrong to tell, well, anything she had learned of Severus those past few months. He had placed his trust in her. And though the Wizarding world now knew his secret, it felt to her like an inexcusable betrayal to reveal anything of him.

"Ron," she said quietly, her hair moving with the morning breeze, "I don't think I can really talk about that."

His gaze held hers for several moments. At first, there was a flicker of disappointment, but then, she saw a dry twinkle and a look of incredulity on his freckled face. With his half-daffy grin, he turned to go back into Grimmauld Place.

000

Severus Snape stood completely still at the threshold of his old quarters.

His total disenchantment with interior design notwithstanding, Severus felt oddly out of place. Though his rooms at Hogwarts looked as much the same as could be expected, and while the headmistress assured him that no one else had occupied the space during his absence, he still managed to eye the entry room with a sweep of contempt. As bitter as the moment was, he eventually managed to take a step forward, trying not to take Minerva's appalling sense of design as some sort of punishment for not coming to her earlier with the truth. Pausing in front of a red tapestry on the west wall, he closed his eyes and reminded himself to not take it personally.

As it was, the last twenty-four hours had been some of the worst in his life.

And for Severus Snape, that was certainly saying something.

His meeting with Minerva had been doomed from the start. She, like Hermione, had assumed he was a Death Eater using Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself. And with the same maverick spirit he seemed to recall so well, she had fired off hexes at him like the raining wrath of God.

And just like their last encounter seven years ago, she had very nearly disarmed him.

Once he had immobilized her enough to explain, after apologizing profusely at having to do so, there had been a curious gentleness in her gray eyes as she looked him over again -- though looking for what, he hadn't been certain. She appeared older to him than ever; worn, and stretched at the seams. He felt an involuntary flicker of anger toward the damnable Death Eaters who had tired her so. But he had managed to still himself enough, at least, to make his offer to her; and in a gesture of goodwill he would have never offered to anyone but Minerva, he set his ebony wand purposefully on her desk and slowly backed away.

"If you require an Unbreakable Vow of me, Minerva," he had said quietly, "I will oblige to your request."

But she had merely shook her head at him incredulously, closing the distance between them to embrace him fiercely. "My boy," she had cried, the top of her silver hair just reaching his chest, "how I need you now, more than ever."

It was strange to be embraced so fully, to feel her wiry arms wrap around his neck as though she couldn't stand to ever let go. He had awkwardly brought his arms up to her back, patting her slightly until she released him, tears streaming down her sun-spotted face.

And then everything that followed went by in a complete blur.

Immediately they had gone to the Ministry; Minerva quite literally dragged him behind her with a firm grip on his wrist and demanded with the sort of authority only she could radiate to speak with Shacklebolt at once. His secretary had informed them that the Minister was busy and they would have to call again, though Severus caught the young woman watching him beneath particularly wary eyes. Unperturbed, the headmistress pressed the witch without hesitation, certain that whatever Kingsley was doing in that moment did not rival the magnitude of what she needed to discuss with him.

And so they were admitted.

And the rest of the day was a complete whirlwind of activity he would prefer to forget with the help of a strong bottle of fire whiskey. Sitting in rooms with steel and glass and windows that were too high, feeling like some Godforsaken test subject as they poked and prodded at him, asking the most personal and intimate details of his pathetically squandered life while under Veritaserum, Severus reluctantly answered each question they posed.

He felt humiliated. Seated in the shadow of a pillar, Auror after Auror, Ministry official after official -- they all came, questioning him like they would the foulest of criminals. When he hesitated, they would only press him further and harder -- pulling at the fibers of his already unraveling life.

And then they asked too much.

"And what, pray tell, Mr. Snape was your relationship to Lily Potter? The woman formerly known as Lily Evans?" A man called Hales asked.

Severus' dark gaze immediately turned to the Minster in dire accusation. "I fail to see how that is of any importance as to what we are trying to ascertain here, Hales."

Hales smirked tightly, twirling a quill between his thumb and forefinger. "Then perhaps you can tell us why Albus Dumbledore trusted you for all those years, when all the evidence seen here shows that he had no reason to do so," he said in a bored tone. "Obviously, we assume, he had a handle."

"Do you work for the Prophet, Hales?" Severus growled, his white knuckles gripping the sides of his chair, "Or the Ministry?"

"This is quite enough," a fifty-something wizard said firmly, coming around from behind him. "Mr. Snape's loyalty is not in question here. His name was cleared years ago, as you very well know, Hales."

Hales looked over at the wizard with a sweep of contempt. Clearly, he thought he was on the verge of something.

"Mr. Thorpe is quite right," Minerva piped in, though there was a sharp edge to her voice. "We are simply undergoing the necessary steps required to correct Severus' status amongst the dead." And then she eyed Hales firmly. "If there are any doubts on the matter, Mr. Hales, you are more than welcome to take it up with me."

Kingsley, hunched over an immaculate table with eyes scanning a rather worn looking parchment, cleared his throat. "That is enough for today, I think. Hales, Thorpe? I wish to speak with you both for a moment, if you please." And then his eyes met Severus with some amount of reservation. "That will be all, Severus. I expect to see you here in a month to go over a few additional legal issues."

Severus nodded grudgingly.

Damnable Ministry.

"Mr. Snape?" The man called Thorpe asked as Severus stood to leave. "Could I have a word?"

Severus eyed the man with a calculating gaze. "The Unspeakables will be back with my wand in five minutes," he said flatly. "I intend to leave this edifice the moment they return."

Thorpe nodded in understanding. "My name is Lincoln Thorpe," he said sincerely, extending his hand, "there was a small matter I wished to discuss with you, if you don't mind?"

Severus took Thorpe's hand, motioning with his free arm for him to continue.

"I understand if this sounds a bit off to you," he said helplessly, rubbing the back of his neck, "but do you perchance know the name Hermione Granger?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Of course I know the name," he said carefully. "She was my student for six years."

Thorpe nodded. "Yes. Of course. I wondered if you could... that is, perhaps you would be so kind as to make contact with her before the Daily Prophet publishes your story. Let her know in advance that you are, indeed, amongst the living?"

Suspicious eyes narrowed further. "And just why, pray tell, would I extend such an invitation to Miss Granger?" His eyes flicked down to Thorpe's left hand where he noticed a gold ring on his fourth finger. He was mildly surprised by the anger in his voice when he said, "And I am certainly interested to know why a married man has such an interest in my former student."

Thorpe blanched, and there was a look of deep disgust on his face. "I can assure you, Mr. Snape, that my intentions toward Miss Hermione Granger are nothing but honorable. Please do not insult me my suggesting anything untoward."

Rubbing the side of his neck, Severus hissed with impatience, "Then have the courage to explain your sudden interest in Miss Granger, if you please."

Thorpe sighed, and the few lingering witches and wizards exited the room at last, casting curious glances behind them. "I ran into her at a book store some months back. She appeared... distraught. I'm not sure you are aware, but I was appointed as one of the lead Aurors to investigate her parents' case."

Severus sneered. "Are you perhaps wanting some sort of congratulations for this appointment? Though," he added caustically, straightening himself to look down at the wizard, "since I understand the case remains unsolved, I suppose you do not."

Thorpe frowned. "I simply assured her that her parents had not been forgotten and that the Auror Department was still exhausting resources to locate the Death Eaters responsible."

"Ah. And just what is it that you have found, Mr. Thorpe?" Severus asked dryly.

Thorpe looked surprised by the question. "Well, nothing concrete as of yet. I was only just ready to instigate -- "

"You will find nothing," Severus interrupted. "Death Eaters," he said with intense authority, as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, "despite what your merry little group here at the Ministry believes, are not foolish. They are deliberate and careful. Now, I understand it has been some years since the murders?"

Thorpe nodded slowly.

"In that case, you will not find a single shred of evidence to help you."

Thorpe frowned. "There is always hope that -- "

"Delusions," Severus snapped. "However, I would be willing to assist you in that regard, Mr. Thorpe," he paused and eyed him significantly. "The Dark Lord may have fallen, but the war has not ended. You won't find a shred of evidence without me."

"You intend to pursue the Death Eaters responsible?"

He smirked unpleasantly. "To the very ends of the earth, Mr. Thorpe, if need be."

Something flitted over Thorpe's face as he nodded in understanding. With a final calculating glance, Severus made to walk away.

"She asked a favor of me," Thorpe called out. Severus checked himself but did not turn around, his black eyes fixed straight ahead. "She asked me to search for you. For your body," he clarified soberly. Thorpe let the words hang in the air ominously above them. Severus, without realizing what was happening, felt his heart clench.

"That woman has compassion unlike anything I have heard of, Mr. Snape. The least you can do, I think, would be to inform her before all hell breaks loose that you're alive."

Walking past him, Thorpe swept out the door and disappeared into the never ending corridors of the Ministry.

And so Severus was in an agitated mood when he had finally given in and seated himself on the sofa next to his hearth, eying the empty liquor cabinet with a sweep of contempt.

And then he heard a quiet rapping on the entrance door to his quarters.

Go away Minerva, he thought vehemently. Have the restraint to give me a brief moment's peace.

For several moments he sat perfectly still but for the wand twirling between his long fingers.

Another rap on the door.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath, standing and sweeping toward the threshold with an angry retort on his tongue.

"Minerva," he spat, flinging the heavy door open, "Kindly have the -- "

But the comment died on his lips as he stared down at a pale and quiet Hermione Granger. An awkward second passed, and then another. At last Severus cleared his throat and said, "How did you find these rooms?"

Hermione bit hew lower lip and her eyes shifted toward the floor, clearly embarrassed. "Erm..., I asked Minerva."

Black eyes found brown and held them.

"I see," said Severus, though the tone in his voice indicated he was not at all pleased. "What do you want?"

Her face looked crestfallen. "To -- to see, er, that is, I just wanted to see how everything went today at the Ministry."

Meddling Gryffindors.

"It went as well as to be expected, Hermione," he said coldly.

"Oh." She nodded once. "Of course. I'll just -- I'll leave you, then."

And then she turned and hurried back through the long, dark corridor.

Still blocking the entryway, her brisk footfalls echoing back at him like a Tale Tale Heart, Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. With any other he would have felt a small flicker of triumph at sending an unwanted visitor away, some small amount of pleasure at their nervous retreat.

But Hermione Granger was different.

How -- he still wasn't completely certain. But whatever had transpired between them during the past few months had left him feeling profoundly out of his depth. He was indebted to her, he knew, for keeping his secret. Though, his mind argued loudly, she wouldn't have had to bear that burden if she merely would have looked where she was going and avoided the ravine altogether.

He sighed. Enough pondering and heaviness. What was done, was done. There was nothing, save a Time Turner and a great deal of unwanted paperwork covering the necessary legalities, that would change what had passed.

And then there was the issue of her parents.

Murdered. Tortured, apparently; for the sole reason that they represented something different from what the Death Eaters knew and understood. He felt an unexpected stab of guilt as he thought of them. As Head of Slytherin House, he took very little interest in the home life of students outside his own House. Subsequently, he had never met the Grangers. He wondered if Mrs. Granger had had wild hair and freckles like her daughter. Perhaps Mr. Granger had soft brown eyes. He didn't know. He had never met them.

And that was where the guilt kicked in.

If he had come out of hiding sooner, would he have been able to do something more to protect them? He wouldn't have known about the attack beforehand, true enough, but could his knowledge have helped where the Aurors had failed in tracking down the culprits? Before the trail turned dead and cold?

Of course it would have.

And he felt sick about it.

And this poor, broken, woman was still looking for closure.

"Hermione," he called out into the dark corridor, his voice echoing off the walls, "Hermione, please, I wish to speak with you."

He heard the faint resonance of her footsteps come up short. And then, after several seconds of silence, he heard them resume again -- though at a much slower pace -- in his direction. He waited quietly in the darkness, the torches on the walls crackling through the empty space. At last she rounded the bend. Her pale face looked uncertain as it came into the light of the torch, but she held her head high, looking at him directly under a furrowed brow.

"Is...is there something I can help you with?"

He sighed. "No, Hermione. I was...unnecessarily harsh with you. Please," and he stepped aside to allow her entry, "come in and I shall make us some tea."

She looked hesitant for a moment, but then smiled softly as she squeezed past him through the threshold. There in the sudden silence she looked around, curiously, at the den and the sitting room, and the doorways the presumably led off to his bedroom or the bath. Her gaze immediately caught the wide windows to her left that viewed the Hogwarts grounds from floor to ceiling. Eventually she remembered herself and looked back up at him, the faintest flicker of embarrassment over her face.

"I must say," she mused aloud, stepping toward the table that fronted a comfortable looking couch, "the red and gold tapestries are something of a surprise." And then she added before she could help it, "I never knew you were such an advocate of Gryffindor, Severus."

Severus scowled and motioned for her to take a seat, mentally noting that no one ever made free to tease him. "Minerva's sense of humor is appallingly bad."

Seating herself on the couch and adjusting the skirts of her robes, she chuckled, "Oh, I don't know. I'd say they look rather fetching."

He gave her a warning glance, one that brooked no argument, and then conjured two cups of steaming liquid. Reaching out to hand her a teacup, he saw for the first time that day how she looked as beaten down, as sad and weary, as any woman could look without changing her single expression.

Frowning down at her, he asked, "What is wrong?"

She chuckled ruefully, taking the teacup from him and placing it unsteadily on her lap, "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?"

He came over and sat down across from her. His normal mask of indifference was absent as he gave her an odd look.

"You were the one that had to deal with the Ministry today," she clarified, staring down at the amber liquid, "You don't need to concern yourself with my every worry."

A sudden darkness flitted over his face at the mention of the Ministry. He stilled it quickly, looking back over to her. "Hermione," he said with some discomfort, "While I am certainly not one to coddle over the everyday trifles of my former students, I do not believe you to be a woman who finds herself easily upset. If there is something amiss, you have my confidence, such as it is."

She looked up at him, startled but grateful. "Thank you," she said quietly, clutching her teacup with white knuckles. And then her eyes dropped to the floor and she said quickly, without looking up, "I was with Harry this morning when he got the Prophet."

Severus blinked. It occurred to him now that she looked much older than her twenty-five years. Against his will -- would he ever be able to escape the bloody Potter family? -- he felt sorry for her, without being entirely certain why.

"I knew he'd be upset with me when he found out I knew about you," she was saying in a rush, "almost, I expected it of him." She sighed and set her tea on the table, rubbing her eyes wearily. "What I didn't expect was for him to think that I'd betrayed him. Or," she added as an afterthought, "that he'd want to hex me."

Severus' head snapped up and his black eyes flashed. "He did what?"

She regarded him abruptly, somewhat taken aback by his outburst. "He didn't actually hex me," she clarified quickly, when she took in his murderous gaze, "but if Ron hadn't been there to calm him down," she shook her head and wrung her hands together, "I'm not sure what would have happened."

"Of all the asinine things -- " Severus started, and he stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace.

"He didn't do anything," Hermione said in Harry's defense, though she wondered in that moment why she was defending him, "He's just...immature about some things, is all," she admitted reluctantly.

"Immaturity does not excuse his actions," Severus said darkly, pausing to look down at her. "You would not want to be on the receiving end of one of Potter's curses, Hermione," he said with some amount of asperity, "Or do you not recall what happened to Draco Malfoy during your sixth year?"

She sighed internally. Of course she remembered. According to Harry, it had been a blood bath.

"No, I...well, I remember," she said in a small voice.

He turned and looked down at her, his face solemn. "You will tell me what happened," he said levelly.

She was silent -- no doubt reviewing the scene in her mind. A moment later she rested her head between either of her hands, palms gingerly massaging her temples. "I was over for breakfast," she said quietly. "Ron and I occasionally go to visit before he and Harry have to leave for the Ministry. Kobic -- Harry's owl -- dropped off the Prophet just as we were sitting down to eat."

She paused. Her head hurt and her body ached like it had for a week, as if it had forgotten how to heal. "As soon as he read the article, he turned to me," she said miserably. "He knew that I had known about you."

He grimaced unhappily. It was because of him that the forever moronic Potter had tried to hex her. "He could not have known," Severus said, though slightly uncertainly. "Unless," he added, and he felt his voice darken, "you told someone."

"No!" Hermione cried, looking up at him with wide eyes that were shocked and half-afraid. "No, Severus, I didn't tell a soul, I swear it!"

Oh, he was certain she hadn't. Hermione Granger was not someone who hid her emotions. And more than that, she was a horrible liar. Oddly, though, he still wanted to hear the exclamation from her own lips.

"Then what, pray tell, would have made him suspect you?" he pressed, coming around again to sit across from her. "Potter, as I recall, was always pathetically unobservant."

She was not looking at him. She didn't appear to be looking at anything. But after several moments of fidgeting with her hands, she reluctantly met his gaze. "Well, I..., that is, before I knew you were alive -- back when I thought your body was still missing, I kept...pressing Harry to petition the Aurors to do something. Anything." She leaned back on her hands behind her and looked away from him. "I...it wasn't fair you didn't have a proper burial."

Severus looked over at her, at this selfless gentle-hearted woman and felt a strange sense of smallness as his eyes searched over her. He thought of Thorpe and what he had told him at the Ministry. "Anyway," she was hurrying on, "obviously after I knew you were alive, I didn't press him further. While I think he knew something was off with me, he didn't speak directly to me about it," she chuckled ruefully, "I think Ron told him to leave me alone, already."

"Ah. So it appears Mr. Weasley does, in fact, have some shred of sense about him."

"Don't say that," Hermione countered, her voice firm. "Ron may not have been the best student, but when he applies himself, he's rather intelligent."

"Of course," Severus responded with an air of indifference. It would not do to argue with her over Weasley's dreadful marks. And then he prompted when she remained silent, "You were saying?"

"Oh," she shook her head. "Right. Well, Harry accused me of... betraying him, that if anyone had a right to know you were alive, he did."

"Bloody self-righteous fool," Severus cursed, straightening the white cuffs of his sleeves, "Naturally the brat would assume he would need to be the first to know about anything," he sneered, "That the Prophet should sound concourses of trumpets at his feet with the most flippant of stories."

She managed to nod slightly, and he was suddenly certain she wasn't listening.

"Hermione?"

She didn't look up at him, her brown eyes dull as they stared into her teacup.

"Hermione!"

She blinked quickly and then focused on him.

"I...yes?"

He frowned at her. "Could you not hear me?"

She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, "Oh, sorry, sir. I suppose my mind wandered."

Sir?

Severus stared at her as though he had never seen her before. Hermione Granger's mind wandering was certainly unprecedented. It was her admittance to such a travesty, however, that left him feeling rather disconcerted. Strange that he needed to know what was troubling her. But he felt it. Like a quiet nagging in the back of his mind that demanded not to be ignored.

"You will tell me what is troubling you, Hermione," he said, sitting erect so as to fully draw strength from his full height. If intimidation was the only way to get it out of her, so be it.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Be that as it may," he said smoothly, "I wish to discuss the situation of Potter." And then he added, "I am confident Poppy would not find it too taxing to offer you a Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Oh, of course."

She stared dully ahead, and there were no words for the sudden emptiness that radiated from her eyes. He could read very little from it, but a thing, a sense of wrongness was there.

"Hermione?" Severus asked again, leaning forward slightly.

Looking up at him, brown eyes bright and vulnerable, she said helplessly, "After...everything I've been through with him -- with Harry, he...he thinks that I would betray him."

Oh.

He felt his ears prick as he heard the strain under the familiar gentleness of her voice. Damn Potter and damn the entire family, he thought vehemently. Would he ever be truly free from the brat? It seemed that whatever he did to distance himself mattered very little; the fates and the universe always managed to throw Potter ever emphatically back into his life. Again he felt an unexpected churn of pity for her. Ah, how had it come to this? How had it fallen to him to comfort this broken, weary woman from the likes of Potter?

"I do not think," he said very softly, grimacing at his own sentimentality, "that he would intentionally cause you anguish, Hermione."

She shook her head, only half listening. "You didn't see his face," she said miserably, "I may as well have put his head on a spit and given it to Voldemort."

"Do-not-use-his-name!"

She blanched, her face twisting horribly. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered, "I forget that you...that you don't like his name."

"It is not a matter of merely liking or disliking a name," he ground out, feeling his temple pound. "It is what it represents."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, looking down at her hands.

It was several moments before he spoke again.

"Hermione," his voice sounded oddly strangled. "I am not privy to an in-depth discussion of the Dark Lord's name at this moment. However," and he stole his hand up to massage his aching neck, "I must know if, that is, you will tell me if Potter assaulted you in some way." And then he added darkly, "If I extract the information from you by using Legilimency, so be it."

Hermione didn't speak for a long moment. She heard Severus breathing, felt the awful tension of the room. Physically, Harry hadn't touched her, though she was oddly unsure of what he would have done if Ron hadn't been there. She had never seen him look so deranged -- so mad with anger.

And so she answered in a quiet voice, "No, he didn't hurt me."

Physically, anyway.

When she looked up, she felt more than saw the relief in his posture. Wanting a chance in subject more than anything, she asked somewhat half-heartedly, "So, what happened at the Ministry?"

For a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer her, but then he sighed deeply, running a hand through his jet black hair. "They saw and heard what they wanted to."

She scowled, and some of the life in her eyes returned. "Politicians," she cursed. "Too damn blind by their own pride to see the truth."

Severus quirked an eyebrow, both amused and surprised. "And what truth is that, Hermione?"

"That," she hesitated, summoning what he could only assume was her Gryffindor courage, "that you are... profoundly, unflinchingly generous. You defend the innocent at any cost. And that you just sacrificed a life of peace and solitude to return to," she waved her hands in the air, searching for an appropriate word, "to this madness to fight for what's right. That you've brave beyond words... well, beyond all reason, really. And -- "

"Hermione," Severus interrupted, and there was a tone of warning in his voice, "that is quite enough."

"Oh, sorry," she blushed, looking to her lap. "I tend to get carried away."

He nodded, though he felt his own blood rushing to his cheeks. And then he looked momentarily serious again, looking at her steadily. "Your praise is greatly exaggerated," he paused, looking pensive, "though I have never been one to accept it gracefully."

Hermione laughed easily. "Nor I." Then she smiled a little. "We're quite the pair, you and I, aren't we?"

Her words touched him like a finger on a pool of water, the contact at a point rippling through the whole. He cleared his throat. "I daresay we are."

He stared over at her, realizing how much he had dropped character with her since she had come into his life. If he was being honest with himself, he knew she had been penetrating it ever since he had asked her to be a runner, when she began to make free to tease him. Some new balance had to be found, he was certain. But since he had rescued her that night in the ravine, this new half-freedom had been nearly intoxicating; when she accepted his poor bits of truth about his survival, and asked for nothing more.

Initially, it surprised him. He kept waiting for her to badger him into a confession of how he had survived and the truth behind his seclusion.

But it never happened.

And being able to talk with her plainly, wrestling with that sharp and keen mind was unlike anything he had ever done before. He found, oddly, that he quite enjoyed their conversations.

Leaning back against the couch, he realized the sunlight on their teacups was orange and angled low across the coffee table from the bright, wide, windows that viewed across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. He raised his head.

"I should be going," Hermione said, as though reading his mind. She stood and brushed her robes down. "Thank you for the tea, Severus."

He nodded once, escorting her to the threshold. Without thinking, he offered her a small smile. "I bid you good evening, Hermione."

She returned the gesture, her perfect teeth shinning behind full lips. "Good night, Severus."

He sat looking at the door for a few minutes after she left. Sighing deeply, he turned back to the fireplace to grab a handful of Floo Powder. In years past, Minerva McGonagall had been known to have a seemingly never ending whiskey cabinet at her disposal. Tossing the powder into the hearth, he sincerely hoped her habits had not changed as of late.

His last conscience thought as he stepped into the green flames was that with the profound changes of the last twenty-four hours, he suddenly felt way in over his head.


A/N: First off, I have to thank everyone for the encouraging reviews for the last chapter. You're all lovely. This chapter felt a bit like a filler chapter for me - though I felt the information was necessary. Hopefully it wasn't too slow moving to keep the interest there. I'm not a Harry basher, per se, despite what this chapter might lead you to believe. Don't worry, Harry and Sev will have their moment together to reconcile...etc. Next up will be more HG/SS interaction as school begins. Again, any thoughts on the plot and the character development would be extremely appreciated. Thanks for all the support so far!