December 1999

The frost glittered on the holly bushes clustered around the muddy field on the outskirts of the small Devon village. The village was almost silent – it was a Saturday afternoon about 2 weeks before Christmas, and most of its inhabitants were either stocking up at the large shopping centre in Exeter or busy cooking batches of mince pies and putting the finishing touches to their Christmas decorations. The only noise came from the pretty parish church, where the local choir were preparing for Midnight Mass.

There was a sudden pop and two young women apparated behind the bushes. The taller of them looked cautiously over the hedge, before relaxing, with a sudden giggle.

"Thank Merlin for that… I thought I was going to go mad."

The other gave her a wry look. "You love it really."

Her companion shuddered. "Not when Mum is in full flow. I can't believe the wedding's in three weeks. Mum's going to be impossible until it's all over." She sighed. "It's at times like this that I wish I'd gone along with Harry's suggestion that we elope. Thanks for rescuing me, Hermione."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I did want to see the house. Somehow, I can't visualise you living here, though, Ginny."

The two jumped over a ditch and joined the road leading into the sleepy village. The few people out and about on errands gave them a curious look. Ginevra Weasley was as striking as ever – tall and slim with that enviable mane of shining red hair hanging loose down her back – but Hermione also stood out in her trendy clothes and high heeled boots. They were obviously urbanites and stood out as such. One or two people, some of whom were oddly dressed, did a double-take at the sight and then smiled warmly at them both.

Hermione looked around with extra interest as it occurred to her that at least half of the populace recognised them. The last time she'd been here, it hadn't been a good idea to advertise oneself as a witch or wizard, but it was clear that the magical community was flourishing now, although the Muggles seemed as oblivious as ever to their presence…astonishing considering the way some of them dressed.

She'd last been in Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve two years ago in very different circumstances. In the distance, she saw the War Memorial that she remembered from then – as she looked, it turned briefly into the famous statue of James, Lily and the infant Harry that was only visible to the wizarding community. Something struck her.

"So is Harry happy about moving here? It hasn't got very good memories for him, has it?"

Ginny frowned. "I was a bit surprised. Frankly, I'd have been happy to stay on at Grimmauld Place."

"Why don't you, then?" It did seem a bit odd to Hermione. Harry seemed to have settled down in the old Black residence – he'd modernised considerably and had been able to spend quite a lot of time clearing the house of the old spells that plagued it. The atmosphere had changed a lot; Hermione would have been happy to live there herself. Ginny currently spent most of the week in Wales as the newest team member of the Holyhead Harpies, and Harry was often away on Auror missions, but she had had visions of the newlyweds living in cosy domesticity at weekends, with herself and Ron coming around for Sunday lunch. It felt right, somehow.

Ginny was silent. She stopped by a cobbled path, which led to a small cottage with a thatched roof, set back by itself from the main street. "Here we are – this is it." She walked down the path and Hermione followed. It was almost impossibly pretty – the cottage was blessed with a large garden, at the end of which a small stream separated the cottage from farm fields.

"Oh Gin, its lovely," she exclaimed, eyeing up the surrounding land with an eye that was slightly more expert since her experiences last summer. What Severus couldn't do with land like this – so rich and fertile, and so much easier to work than the baked earth of southern Spain! "You could grow your own vegetables here."

The younger woman shuddered. "Please – don't. Not my idea of fun."

Hermione grinned – Ginny was well-known for her dislike of anything involving manual outside work. "You'll have to invite Neville to stay every now and then, so he can sort it out for you."

She glanced at her companion with concern. The girl looked rather lost and out of place in this rural location. Since graduation, Ginny had embraced her new life as a young woman in London. Ignoring her mother's plaintive requests to stay at home until the wedding, she'd moved in with Harry and had discovered the joys of all-night clubbing. It was only when it became obvious that too much of a good thing was not conducive to a successful professional Quiddich career that Ginny had calmed down slightly.

The point was that Hermione had never known Ginny to be anything other than lively. She had an endless coltish energy that seemed far more suited to London or a muddy Quiddich field than to a quiet country village. Right now, she seemed frozen in place, looking at nothing in particular.

Hermione shivered and hugged herself. "It's a bit nippy out here," she pointed out. "Shall we go in?"

Ginny shook herself out of her silent contemplation of the landscape. "Of course." She unlocked the front door and led Hermione inside, waving her hand at the fireplace to start a blaze. "There – we'll soon warm up."

Molly had already stocked the cupboards, so the girls had no trouble locating coffee and a pack of biscuits, and they were soon curled up in cosy armchairs in front of the fire. Hermione sighed in appreciation as she took a sip.

"Now this is so much better than trying on bridesmaid outfits."

Ginny laughed. "Well, you shouldn't have left it so late. It's not as if you've not had enough notice."

Hermione grimaced. "It's not been all that easy to get away…" She stared moodily into the fire.

Ginny gave her a sympathetic look. They were all aware of the problems Hermione had been having with her parents since their return. They'd become paradoxically over-protective of their daughter and jealous of her spare time. It was hard for Hermione to slip away without telling them where she was going to go, and they were not reconciled to the Weasleys – apparently blaming Molly and Arthur for 'allowing' Hermione to go on her year-long adventure with Harry and Ron.

It didn't help that Hermione still suffered occasionally from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse administered to her by Bellatrix Lestrange, which gave her shooting pains in her arms and legs, particularly in cold weather. Her parents bitterly resented the boys for her capture and brief torture. Hermione was careful to keep the Mudblood scar on her arm covered with magical cosmetics all the time – even Severus was unaware of its existence. It would only make things worse. She knew her parents wanted her to turn her back on the magical world that had let her down so badly. She couldn't make them understand how impossible that would be, and how much it would hurt not to see Harry or Ron any more. As for Severus…

It had almost killed her to leave him like that. It was painfully clear that he'd misunderstood her in some way, but she was too confused, both by what had just happened between them and by Ron's news, to try to tackle him at that moment. It was just too complicated and she was in too much of a hurry to get back.

Since then, most of the time when she wasn't settling into her new job had been spent trying to sort out the mess she'd created with her own family two years previously. And then, just when things were beginning to settle down, Ginny had returned from a romantic weekend with Harry, flushed with excitement and sporting the kind of diamond that must have decimated Harry's remaining inheritance. Hermione had been thrust straight into elaborate wedding preparations, Molly clearly (and wisely) realising that the bride herself wasn't likely to be of as much help as the more practical Hermione when it came to the selection of dresses, flowers, linens and invitations. The ceremony was to take place at midnight on New Year's Eve and, frankly, Hermione couldn't wait until it was all over.

Then…what? She shied away from a sudden vision of Andalusia in January – a fire in the cosy little sitting room and Severus in his usual chair – to focus on Ginny again.

"So, you never answered my question. Why leave Grimmauld for here? Not that it isn't nice," she added, trying very hard not to imagine a certain dark-haired wizard in the romantic surroundings.

Ginny shrugged. "It's OK, I guess. Good place to bring up children."

Something her voice alerted Hermione. "You're not…?"

Ginny gave her a horrified look. "Merlin, no, not that. I'm not that stupid!"

"But Harry wants to… um, get on with it…?"

Ginny gave Hermione a wry look. "You could say that. I think he's got some kind of idea of finally having his own family now that it's all over."

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment. Ginny frowned into the fire. "You've got to see it from his point of view. Bought up by these awful people. Then Hogwarts became a sort-of home for him…except it turned fairly quickly into a nightmare for him – in just a few years, it became a place associated with death and misery. He had a chance of a family life with Sirius for a brief time…and then that was ripped away from him. Ok, he's got my family, but he really wants something for himself. And I do love him – so much. This wedding – I joke about it, but it's what I've always dreamed of. From the moment I met him…I just knew I wanted to be with him… If that means a big family, well, that's fair enough. I like kids anyway."

Hermione gave her a dubious look. "What about the Harpies?" What was it about these Wizarding families? The girl was only eighteen, for Heaven's sake!

Ginny shrugged again. "It won't happen for a while yet, anyway. And, even if it does, there's no reason why I can't keep on playing. There's a couple of mums on the team – they have child minders, crèches and so on." She avoided mentioning the fact that Molly would not be amused if her daughter went back to work very soon after having a child, but it hung in the air between them. Hermione decided not to bring up the other obvious issue – if she'd inherited her mother's fertile genes, Ginny might be surprised at how quickly 'it' happened.

Hermione contemplated the tall beautiful red-head for a moment.

She'd be the first to admit that they weren't the closest of friends. Proximity had brought them closer, but they were poles apart in personality. And then there had been the tension over Severus – and Hermione, Ron and Harry's initial concealment of his survival. Ginny had been openly upset about Harry's deception and bitterly opposed to the help her family had given her former Headmaster. She hadn't spoken to Hermione for several months and had given the older girl a look of silent disgust when she'd announced her plans to visit Andalusia rather than join the family trip to Brazil.

Since Hermione's return to the UK, Ginny appeared to have decided to pretend that Severus no longer existed. Her talk had been all of her impending marriage and future plans. Hermione was confused by this – she'd never known Ginny to be selfish or self-centred, but it was as if Hermione could have no other interest in life.

Hermione had given up any attempt to talk about her summer, even though she was desperate to talk to someone, anyone, about what had happened.

While she'd been there, with Severus, it had all seemed so simple. She was attracted to him and he had definitely responded – she might be innocent, but she wasn't that unaware of male sexual responses. She was sick of being the sensible, careful one – for once she wanted to follow her instinct. Why the hell not? She'd meant what she'd said to Severus that night – if he'd had taken her virginity right there, on the floor, she wouldn't have minded at all... although she had hoped they might have moved things to the bedroom. If only Ron's letter had arrived the following morning…

But it hadn't – it had arrived that night at the most awkward moment. But then, maybe she should be glad it had? What did she really know about Severus's feelings towards her?

She knew he'd been aware of her feelings last year and that he'd let her down as gently as possible. It had been clear this summer that he appreciated her company, even if it was only to boss her around, lecture her on potions and insult her career choices, but did his feelings really run any deeper than that?

She'd provoked an emotional response in him – their confrontation had released an anger that had been dormant in him – but she had already known that Severus was prone to bitterness and periods of black depression that broke out occasionally into passionate outbursts that acted as a kind of catharsis for him. How much of his subsequent physical response was a reaction to that, rather than to the woman who had just happened to be there? Was she… had she been just a… an outlet… for his frustration?

Ginny moved restlessly, and the fire caught her red hair, dazzling Hermione, which turned her mind on to another red-headed beauty. She remembered the memories she'd seen in the pensieve – the look of undisguised adoration on Severus's face whenever he saw young Lily Evans…his agonised sobs as he clung to her lifeless body, ignoring the infant Harry in the background. That…that was love…wasn't it?

Severus's face didn't light up when she came into the room. He didn't let her order him around or listen to her in silent agreement whenever she spoke. He didn't linger on her every word. He'd hardly looked at her new hairstyle, and seemed entirely uninterested in the way she dressed or looked. Apart from that day in Granada, he hadn't asked her what she'd wanted to do. They had never gone on long romantic walks or laid in the long grass on a shady river bank – he'd driven her to a nearby lake once or twice, but hadn't joined her in the water, just sitting in the car while she swam. He didn't look as if his heart missed a beat whenever he saw her. He didn't find excuses to touch her more than necessary. He never gazed at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

He didn't look as if his life would end if she were no longer there.

"I don't know why you bother."

Hermione jumped. Ginny was still looking away from her, at the fire, picking listlessly at a thread on her jeans. Hermione was wondering whether she'd imagined it when the girl spoke again.

"You were thinking of him again – weren't you? That…man."

Before Hermione could respond, the younger girl turned and looked at her. Ginny's blue eyes were flat – hard.

"I don't know why you're bothering. You think that someone like him is capable of love?"

"I think anyone is capable of love." Hermione murmured. "It doesn't necessarily follow that he should love me though."

Ginny gave an icy laugh. "And yet you love him? Or think you do?"

"I…I don't know…" Hermione suddenly felt wary. Here it was – the talk she had imagined having with another woman – someone who would understand. But it turned out that she didn't want to talk about it after all – at least not here and not now.

The eyes were on hers, assessing, measuring. "You do love him."

Hermione sighed. "Yes - no. I don't know." I think I do, she added, silently. But what was love?

"Do you know what he did to me?" Ginny's voice was deceptively light – casual even. It was as if they were talking about the dresses Hermione had been trying on. Hermione felt her skin prickle in warning.

"I know…it wasn't pleasant," she replied, watching the girl carefully.

"But you've never felt it, have you." It was not a question.

"Bellatrix –"

"I'm not talking about some psychopathic murderous woman torturing you for perverted kicks," Ginny interrupted, leaning forward. "I'm talking about someone who is supposed to be there to protect you, to teach you, to take care of you. Someone you should be able to trust." She leaned back, her eyes still on Hermione. "Do you know how that feels? To be betrayed by an adult in a position of trust?" She gave a strange laugh. "You know, I almost felt better about it when I thought he was an actual enemy…"

Hermione could feel her panic rising. "I don't –"

Abruptly, Ginny stood, putting something small out of her jacket pocket. "Come with me."

Wordlessly, Hermione followed her into the cottage kitchen. A pensieve stood on the table – it was the same one that Hermione had used at Grimmauld Place. Ginny looked at her and saw the guilty recognition in her face.

"Harry's already moved some things here. He wouldn't have bothered with this, but I wanted it for a particular reason."

Hermione could now see that the small object she held in her hand was a vial, and she recognised the silvery flow of memories as Ginny upturned it over the pensieve.

"Why don't you take a look? Enjoy," she added, slightly mockingly, as she sat back on a kitchen stool, her eyes not leaving Hermione's face.

Hermione blinked a little, and then, grasping the sides of the pensieve, she leaned over and felt the familiar sickening sensation of diving down, down into someone else's mind.


She was at Hogwarts in the Great Hall, alongside an 11 year old Ginny. She could feel the girl's uncertainty as she watched her older brother and his friends walk away from the breakfast table. Ginny picked up her books and moved uncertainly towards the door. Hermione remembered that panicky feeling of not knowing where to go or who to speak to.

Ginny got caught up in the bustle of students pushing through the door, suddenly realising they were late for their first classes. With a squeal, she was propelled through the door, straight into a tall, black-cloaked back.

"Careful, you stupid girl!" Without the voice, Hermione would still have recognised the figure anywhere. It was interesting to see that, through Ginny's memories, the face was harder, the nose more prominent, the eyes far more chilling than she remembered. The dark eyes glittered down at the frightened Ginny with recognition and undisguised malice…


Fifteen year old Ginny Weasley brushed her hair until it gleamed. Her face was bright with excitement. She was dressed in jeans, so it must be a weekend and, judging by the general bustle in the dormitory, it was a Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione felt infected by the air of anticipation – the sun was shining and it was a perfect day for an outing.

Ginny grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room, taking the steps two at a time. As she followed the girl out of Gryffindor Tower and down the great staircase, Hermione was amused to see herself by the front entrance, talking animatedly to Ron about something – evidently yet another of the petty arguments they were forever having back then. She winced at her younger self's bushy hair.

Suddenly, Ginny stopped dead, staring down the stairs. Following her eyes, Hermione saw Harry following Severus, his face red with fury. Ginny sighed and let her shoulders slump – it was clear that there'd be no romantic outing with her boyfriend today. Severus strode along, his robes flowing behind him, forcing Harry to keep up with his punishing pace. As he passed the bottom of the stairs, he glanced up towards Ginny, and Hermione was shocked by the malicious amusement she saw on his face. Harry followed his glance and gave his girlfriend an apologetic look before disappearing in the direction of the dungeons.

Ginny clenched her hands in an attitude of poorly concealed frustration and muttered something low that Hermione couldn't hear, but she could certainly catch its meaning…


Ginny was tied to a chair, her hair in a messy tangle that fell over her face. Hermione looked around, recognising the Headmaster's office, but not as she remembered it from Dumbledore's days. It looked…wrong. The fireplace was cold, the pictures had been removed.

"Miss Weasley, I will not ask you again."

Severus was sitting behind Dumbledore's desk, his hands folded together in front of him. He looked old – far older than she had ever seen him – and utterly remote. The evil Carrow twins stood in front of the door, smirking at the tethered girl.

Ginny lifted her head, and Hermione drew in a shocked breath at the blood dripping on her forehead. The girl had been hit around the head with a heavy object.

Severus leaned towards her, his eyes icy cold. "I know you are responsible for this campaign – you and Longbottom. You cannot protect him." He smirked at her in amusement. "Longbottom has already confessed. So much for Gryffindor bravery."

Ginny's eyes were hard. "I imagine you tortured Neville…but even if you did, I don't believe it. I don't believe he told you anything." Her voice dripped with disgust and hatred for the man in front of her.

Alectro Carrow took a step forward, and Severus reacted suddenly, jumping up. "Crucio!"

Ginny's body convulsed so violently that she fell over, still tied to the chair. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming – the blood gushed out.

"You will scream, Miss Weasley. Believe me, you WILL scream." The voice was soft and deadly. Severus gestured again at the writhing body on the ground, this time even more savagely. "Crucio!"

And this time Ginny did scream. Hermione covered her ears, to block out both the cries of torment and the hideous, crazed laughter of the Carrows. But she couldn't take her eyes off those stone-cold black eyes…


Hermione found herself thrown back out of the pensieve, the ringing of the screams still in her ears. Her face felt wet, and she put a shaky hand up to wipe away the tears that she hadn't been aware of shedding.

"So." Ginny was sitting on the stool, her face still hard and emotionless. "Now you know how it feels."

And she stood and walked out of the room.

It was almost half an hour before Hermione felt capable of walking back into the sitting room. Ginny sat in her former position, knees drawn up under her chin, gazing into the fire.

Hermione hesitated before sinking down onto her knees by the other girl. She put a tentative hand on Ginny's shoulder.

"God, Gin, I'm so sorry. I had no idea…" She fumbled for words. "I mean, I – we – knew that you were being punished but…"

"Can you imagine having children with a man like that?"

Hermione was thrown by the non sequitur. "I'm not sure I understand – "

Ginny looked up at her. "Him. Snape – Severus, whatever you call him now. Just think about it. Can you imagine having a child with a man like that? Really? Someone who is capable of standing there, calmly inflicting the most terrible pain on a defenceless child? Someone who has the kind of psyche that permits him to torture and murder innocent Muggles – oh, don't even try to tell me that he didn't do that kind of thing – in twenty years as a Death Eater, do you think he always managed to avoid it without getting on the wrong side of his master? Someone who can bring himself to inflict suffering on the very students he was hired to protect… all just to avoid having his cover blown?"

"He did what he had to do – you know that! It wasn't a game…"

Ginny brushed this aside. "I know that. I know all about it – believe me. Harry has told me all about his memories – not willingly, but he did. I made him." She sighed. "I had to understand why the man who claims to love me would go out of his way to help someone that I can only remember as a torturer - and yes, before you say anything, I know he probably tried to go easy on us and protect us from the Carrows – a bit. But it was still – well, you saw."

Hermione sank back, wordlessly. She felt cold – numb.

"And that wasn't the worst of it," Ginny continued, her eyes still on Hermione. "Did you ever speak to Neville and Luna about what they went through?"

Hermione tried to open her mouth, tried to say something, but all she could do was shake her head slowly.

"Then talk to them. See their memories, if they'll let you. Then ask yourself again – would you willingly have children with that man… and if you did, would you be forever looking over your shoulder, wondering whether you could safely leave them alone with their father?" There was just a gleam of pity in Ginny's eyes as she looked at Hermione. "Don't give me any rubbish about how you'd never have kids anyway – even if you never want to have them, it matters. It matters how you feel about the man that you plan to wake up next to each morning. It matters that you don't see a murderer or a child torturer when you look at that man."

And Hermione realised that she had no answer to that.


"I try not to think about it," Neville muttered. He stood outside one of Hogwarts greenhouses, wiping his hands carelessly on his robes. It was strange that Neville, of all of them, had chosen to return to the place where he'd been tormented so frequently, and yet, here he was, working as an apprentice Herbology teacher. Hermione had to admit that he looked at home here. He'd been supervising a group of first years and she was struck by the way they looked up at the tall lanky young man with admiring eyes.

He stopped from replying, stepping further out of earshot of the students first. "Why would you want to know about that now? What difference does it make now he's dead? Is it something to do with what they charged him with?"

She avoided a direct answer. "If they opened an inquest at the Ministry, would you testify?"

"What - for him or against him?" he responded ironically before stopping and considering her question. "I dunno. I guess I was a thorn in his side that last year. To be honest, I'm not sorry, even if it did turn out that he was on our side, like Harry keeps saying."

"He was on our side."

"Yeah, whatever." He seemed tired of the conversation and glanced impatiently towards his students, clearly keen to get on. "Look, what is this really about? I can't believe you've suddenly come to ask me about my experiences at the hands of a dead man – why should it matter now?"

She asked, without any real hope. "Look, Neville, is there any chance that I could view your memories of those experiences?"

He shuddered slightly. "No, you couldn't. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'm trying to move on with my life. Bringing up memories doesn't help." At her disappointed face, he relented slightly: "Look, if it helps any, I can tell you that, as far as I could tell, his crucios were less severe than those of the Carrows, so maybe he was trying in his own way to protect us…"

As Hermione was about to seize on this, he continued, "But they were still bloody awful."

And with this parting shot, he walked away from her across the grass, not looking back.


Luna sat in an armchair, looking at Hermione thoughtfully. "You want to view my memories so you can defend Professor Snape, don't you? But it's more than that, isn't it? This isn't about the Ministry. It's about you. For some reason, you need to believe that he wasn't as bad as he was made out to be."

As usual, Hermione was side-lined by Luna's perceptiveness. She'd always found the Ravenclaw a little unsettling – those mild blue eyes saw too far for her liking. In fact, she had once suspected that Luna had been aware of her crush on Severus, so had gone out of her way to avoid the girl. Now, once more, those eyes were focused on her with alarming acuity.

"Would you consider my request?" Hermione took a polite sip of the strange beverage that had been placed in her hands and then set it aside, suppressing a grimace at the taste.

"Hmm." Luna looked out of the window in her usual dreamy manner. "The question is not whether I would consider it. It's what exactly you would gain from viewing them."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Luna beat her to it, giving her that slightly too-hard look again.

"You know what you want to see, so you're not being objective. You want proof that Severus Snape was not the man he is popularly assumed to be. You want to prove that he was a good man and you hope that my memories will reassure you. You are starting to doubt your own perceptions – and you, of all people, hate to be proved wrong about something – or someone."

Luna stood and moved slowly over to the window, seeming to address the air rather than her visitor. "But what would you gain by old memories? I can tell you that the Professor was not as cruel to me as he was to the Gryffindors, almost certainly because he was obliged to be harder on Harry's close friends. He could afford to show some partiality to a Ravenclaw. I can also tell you that he did not use his full power when he cast his curses on me – you know I experienced enough bad treatment from others during my captivity to be able to judge. If it helps, I can confirm that, without showing you any of my memories."

Hermione sighed with relief. "Thank you, Luna. I do appreciate it –"

"But what difference does it make – to you?" Luna carried on as if Hermione had said nothing. She turned to face her old schoolfriend. "My perception of Severus Snape has nothing to do with yours. No two people can have exactly the same experience of a person. Also…" her voice turned dreamy again at this point, "let's suppose he survived. Let's just imagine that – by some chance, with someone's help – he did manage to survive and happens to be living somewhere in hiding…"

Hermione squirmed under that all-seeing gaze. Did she know?

Luna paused, then continued as before: "If he had lived, would he be the same man? Wouldn't his experiences since then have changed him? You are wondering about the psychological make-up of a man who has never known genuine, selfless love his entire life. That level of abuse alone would be enough to cause permanent damage, but then look at his adolescence and adulthood. Being forced to carry out despicable acts on behalf of a monster. Having to live with the knowledge that he was responsible for the death of the woman he believed he loved – however irrational that belief might be. Yes, I know all about that," she added, at the look on Hermione's face.

Luna carried on before Hermione could ask her how she'd known about Severus's past. "That's not important at the moment. You are wondering whether, if he survived, such a man would be capable of living a 'normal' life – whether he would be able to leave behind his emotional turmoil and violent tendencies. Whether he would ever be capable of developing normal relationships – having friends, having lovers, possibly even a family."

"Could someone change that much?" Hermione realised she sounded rather bitter.

Luna gave a mysterious smile. "I don't know, but fortunately for me, I don't need to know. I'm not the one who has to take a leap of faith. The question is…could you – could Hermione Granger – take that leap?"


"Could you take that leap?" Hermione put the same question to Harry a few days later.

They were briefly alone in the library at Grimmauld Place. It was two days after Christmas and the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were planning a day out in London, mainly to escape from Molly's wedding planning, which had reached fever pitch. Christmas Day had apparently been less peaceful than ever.

Hermione had missed all the fun – her day with her parents had been tense, punctuated by occasional reproaches from her mother and not alleviated by her father's almost formal politeness. It had been a relief to use the wedding planning excuse to escape her home on Boxing Day, but the young people had been blown out of the Weasley home the following day by Molly's temper, and didn't intend to return until they absolutely had to.

Hermione had managed to sneak Harry away during a shouting match between Ginny and George over a prank that threatened to leave the bride with flashing purple and green hair just days before the wedding. At her silent urging, he'd shrugged and left his fiancé to deal with the crisis, following Hermione into the library.

Hermione was careful to leave out certain details of her weeks with Severus, but emphasised the mood swings she had witnessed. She summarised his bitter outburst that last night and discussed what Luna had said. Harry listened intently. Hermione had noticed this before – his intense interest in anything relating to Severus and his current status with the Ministry, which Harry was still trying to challenge. It was as if the salvaging of Severus's reputation had become an obsession for Lily Potter's son.

Harry frowned – uneasy at the turn in the conversation. "Oh, I don't know, Hermione. I'm not coming from a very good starting point, am I? I never liked the guy, right from the start. I didn't really give him much of a chance, did I? All I remember is the stark look of dislike on his face that first day at Hogwarts. He gave me the creeps. And he treated me like shit for years – yeah, I know he probably couldn't help it, but…" He trailed off, looking embarrassed by his constant failure to recognise the vital role that Severus had played during his school years.

"It's OK, Harry, you don't have to say it," she reassured him. "I know – remember? I was there, most of the time. And I was just as clueless. He was too clever for all of us." She thought intently. "But would you say you were actually afraid of him? Did you fear for your life?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "Afraid? No, not really. I just hated him most of the time. There was one time…" He leaned back, reflecting. "That time I witnessed his memories when he was trying to teach me occlumency… I was… yes, I was terrified for a moment. I thought he might kill me. But then, looking back… I think he was terrified too. I think he was actually afraid of what he might do to me if I didn't get out of there immediately. Yes," he repeated, more emphatically, "yes, he was afraid of his own strength – of his own emotions. I think I was probably in more danger at that moment than I realised at the time. Perhaps that's why Dumbledore didn't make me go back to him – maybe that's why he told me never to come back."

"Hmm, maybe."

It was hardly comforting to learn that Severus may have been fighting his own violent tendencies even then. She sighed, inwardly. This was just too hard to deal with. She didn't have the experience to cope with it by herself. Severus almost certainly needed expert psychiatric treatment to help him overcome his past experiences – either that or he needed to get himself sorted out without the added complication of new emotional ties.

If she meant no more to him than a sympathetic, objective friend, they might be able to work through his problems, but it was clear that she was already more to him than that. She didn't even know how she could categorise his current emotion towards her. Was it love – 'normal' love as she, or Harry, or Ginny, might recognise it – or something darker? She was already shaken by her ability to affect his emotional status; she feared that his violent outburst that night had been provoked by her presence and the things she had said to him. Was there a danger that he might become, in some way, unhealthily dependent on her? What would that do to him – to her – to them?

Harry was looking at her very seriously. "Hermione, I haven't asked you anything about last summer because -."

They both jumped violently as the door burst open and Ginny's head appeared – thankfully with its normal colour restored. "Come on, guys, we're ready to go now."

Harry gave Hermione a meaningful "we're not finished" look as he got up. She followed, for once grateful for the Weasley habit of interrupting at the most difficult moments.


Ron and Hermione ran through the partying New Year crowds, holding hands to keep together. She was gasping for breath, partly from laughter and partly from trying to keep up with his longer stride. She kept tripping over the hem of her long dress. The high-heeled sandals that had given her much-needed height next to the elegant bride a couple of hours ago were not so suitable for an uneven Soho street.

"Ron!"

Seeing her difficulty, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a doorway, out of the crowds. "What? Don't pretend you didn't want to escape. You were the one who said we were missing the Millennium fireworks over the Thames – what was it, the River of Fire, or something?"

She doubled-over, trying to stop her hysterical giggling. "But I didn't think you'd actually just grab me and apparate us away from your own sister's wedding! We have to go back – it's incredibly rude."

"Do you think they've even noticed? Last seen, Ginny and Harry were snogging in a corner and Mum was having an emotional breakdown over the remains of the canapés – why do women insist on crying at weddings, I thought they were supposed to be happy occasions? Come on, Mione, we can go back soon, but I want to see this. Muggle celebrations are much more interesting."

She giggled again, infected by his excitement. "You've brought us to the wrong area. We'll never get to the river in time."

"Oh yeah? We've got five minutes. Bloody hell, Hermione – your stupid shoes..."

Ignoring her protests, he scooped her up in his arms and spun again. They appeared in the shadows behind the Tate Modern art gallery on the South Bank of the Thames.

"Come on, quick!" He lowered her to the ground, tugged at her hand and they ran again, around the bulk of the Tate towards the new silvery gleam of the Millennium Bridge.

Hermione was laughing again; she felt as if she hadn't laughed properly for years and now she just couldn't stop.

Tonight, nothing mattered, not the War, not her parents, not Severus. Everything was just…fine. More than fine. The positive atmosphere around her was beginning to have an effect – the promise of a new century and a new life. She felt a vein of excitement coursing through her - she was young and had no real responsibilities, she could do anything. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. Ron seemed to pick up on her sudden irrational happiness; his warm strong hand tightened in hers.

The bridge was packed with excited Muggles, but Ron used his muscular frame to force a way through, hauling Hermione with him up the ramp and around the corner onto the main section. Hermione looked towards the west and caught a glimpse of Blackfriars Bridge in the darkness, and the gleam of Waterloo Bridge beyond.

The crowds began to count down. "Ten… Nine… Eight…"

Ron put his arms around Hermione, pulling her in front of him. "Can you see?"

"Just about." She stood on tiptoe, straining to see over the shoulder of the man learning on the rail in front of her.

"Seven… Six…"

"Hold on…" He turned her toward him and, against all the rules of gravity, managed to lift her up slightly.

"Ron -" She put her arms around his neck to steady herself as she felt her toes leave the ground.

"Five… Four…"

His face was very close to her; she could make out the smudge of freckles along his nose, the ginger lashes framing his bright blue eyes. His arms felt warm and firm around her; despite her fears, she wouldn't fall. With Ron, she wouldn't ever fall… Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. It was all so simple…so obvious

"Three…"

His stubble grazed her cheek. She breathed in the warm, familiar scent of… home…

"Two…"

Their mouths were millimetres apart. It didn't take much effort to turn her face ever so slightly, nudge gently at his lips to part them…

"One."