Wonderful news, folks - after two and a half years of being unemployed, I now have a job. It shouldn't affect my writing in any way though. Be happy for me!

"I don't know what I'm searching for,
I never have opened the door;
Tomorrow might find me at last
Turning my back on the past."
– The Moody Blues, 'You Can Never Go Home'.

Nine days later Hermione tracked Severus down using the Marauder's Map and found him outside the main doors, watching the falling snow. "Hello," she greeted him softly.

"Hello, yourself," he replied. "Come to tell me off again?"

"No, not unless I think you deserve it," she replied, surprised by his teasing. This was yet another side of him that she had never seen before; the man had more facets than a diamond. "I was thinking about our last little chat," she added impulsively; that wasn't why she wanted to talk to him, but it would do as a conversation starter.

"And no doubt you have questions," he drawled.

"Quite a few, including your lamentable taste in whiskey, but I wanted to ask about the nickname you used for the Dark Lord. He-Who-Was-An-Anagram?"

He relaxed a little and smirked at her. "What, you thought Death Eaters couldn't mock him? The Mark stops me saying his name, that's all. It doesn't stop me saying that he was an overblown idiot. I made fun of him all the time; one of the joys of being an Occlumens."

"What other names did you have for him?"

"Most of them are inappropriate, and incidentally I apologise for my language the other night," he told her, continuing airily before she could respond, "One of my favourite tricks was to hum the Imperial March from Star Wars in my head when he walked in."

She started to laugh. "Really?"

"Really. I was quite safe; he didn't know I was doing it, and he wouldn't have recognised the tune if he did. That's one drawback to a pureblood society; nobody to understand pop culture references. I used to do the same sort of thing to Dumbledore, only more directly; he could usually tell that I was mocking him, but he didn't get the joke. It infuriated him more than anything else I did, I think."

Laughing, she looked up at him. "I've missed things like that since learning I was a witch. Harry understands more than most, but he's turned away from his Muggle upbringing. So have the other Muggleborns I know. It's strange being able to talk about things like Darth Vader, here of all places."

"It can be useful, though. Sometimes it's almost like having a private language. I enjoy being able to make jokes at other people's expense, knowing that they can't prove I was mocking them because they don't understand what I said."

"We're not all snarky Slytherin gits," she told him primly, attempting to sound superior.

"The world wouldn't be able to cope if you were," he responded, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket. She noticed that he was using the new lighter she had given him and suppressed a smile, pleased that he liked it. The scent of woodsmoke cut through the snow for a moment as he lit up. "What are you doing out here, anyway? It's freezing."

"I just wanted to see you for a moment and make sure you were all right."

"Do stop mothering me," he grumbled. "I managed perfectly well before you came along, you know."

"Is that why you have such a sunny disposition?" she asked sweetly, and grinned as he snorted. "I also wanted to give you a birthday present. I won't bother asking if anyone else remembered, since they clearly didn't." She pulled the small package out of her pocket and held it out.

He seemed torn between surprised, wary and amused as he accepted it. "Some people wouldn't necessarily want the reminder that they are getting old."

"You're forty nine, Severus. That's hardly decrepit even for a Muggle, and for a wizard it's not even close to middle aged." She watched him peel away the layer of tissue paper to reveal the circular pendant hanging from its cord; he held it up in front of his face, frowning slightly as he studied the interlocked black and white teardrops.

"A yin-yang?"

"Light and darkness, in balance," she told him softly. "I thought you could use a reminder." In many ways, it was a representation of Severus himself, a perfect balance between the light and the dark. After a long moment he lowered the necklace into his palm, gathering the cord it hung from and putting it in his pocket without comment; his expression was distant, thoughtful and somehow pensive.

They stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she shivered and asked, "Why are you out here? It really is freezing."

"I'm forbidden to smoke inside the castle, even within my own rooms. I could have broken the charm that ensures that, but truthfully I can't be bothered. This gives me an excuse to get some fresh air."

"And you couldn't have waited until it stopped snowing?"

"This is Scotland. It won't stop snowing until April. Anyway, I like watching the snow. I spent over a year in the Canadian Rockies because I missed proper snow; in a genuine log cabin. It was like something out of a film."

"What was it like?" she asked curiously.

"You would have found it lonely after a while, I think. There was literally nobody else for at least fifty miles in any direction. It was so quiet you could hear the snowflakes falling. I don't usually like silence, as you know, but there it was different. It was peace, true peace, and it was beautiful." That seemed an odd choice of word from a man like Severus, but she could almost imagine what he was describing.

"It sounds it," she said softly. "Didn't you find it lonely?"

"Not there, no; I expected to, I found it hard to be on my own throughout my other travels. But the atmosphere there was like nothing I have ever known before or since, and the isolation felt... right. I needed it, I think, but I couldn't have stayed there any longer than I did. It was the deep breath before the plunge, really, a final rest before I returned to England."

"You must have seen some incredible things, travelling like that."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "I saw more than most travellers would see, because I had no timetable. I walked almost everywhere; I only Apparated to cross oceans. I walked the entire length of North America, from Mexico into the Canadian Rockies."

"Really? Like in The Day After Tomorrow?"

He snorted. "Hardly. It took me longer than two days. That was a terrible film."

"True."

"It took me perhaps nine or ten months. I lost track of time. Until I returned to England and made an effort to pay attention to the date, I didn't know how long I had been away. That, too, was oddly liberating in its own way, to live almost like an animal in accordance with my internal body clock and not by what the movement of the sun dictates. It is strangely freeing."

"And yet here you are in a school, one of the most tightly regimented institutions on Earth," she observed dryly.

"One of life's many ironies," he agreed sardonically. "Still, I can live outside the regime to some extent; my classes are the only constant. And I have advantages that my fellow staff members – including you – do not."

"Ah, yes, your mysterious ability to come and go as you please," Hermione replied. "I haven't forgotten your little challenge, but I admit that I haven't made much progress."

Severus raised his eyebrows in what seemed genuine surprise. "I would have thought you would have worked it out long before now. Perhaps I gave you too much credit."

"Or perhaps I've had other things on my mind," she shot back. "You didn't give me much to go on. You don't need passwords to get into private spaces, you're not the only one who can do it but not everyone can..." She paused and blinked as a thought that had been in development for weeks finally made itself known at the back of her mind, and her eyes widened. "That's why you're never surprised when I show up, why you always seem to know when someone is coming. I always thought it was uncanny when Albus did it. Minerva does the same thing. That's it, isn't it? I suppose I thought of it when I mentioned Umbridge the other night."

"Really, Miss Granger, anyone would think you had never been taught to present your conclusions scientifically," he drawled. "You call that garbled mess an explanation?"

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts in order. This had never occurred to her. "It's because you're still technically Headmaster, isn't it. You didn't die in office, you didn't resign, and you were never formally sacked because everyone assumed you were dead." She stared up at him in disbelief.

His eyes glittered with amused approval. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he said softly.

"But... you fled the castle."

"The castle, yes, but not the job. I chose to leave because the other option was to kill three of my colleagues; contrary to their opinion of the incident, they did not drive me away. I could have won, had I stayed, although it would have been a very hard fight. I left the building willingly and did not resign my post."

"My God, Severus. This is... amazing. What does it actually mean?"

Lounging more comfortably against the wall, he blinked snow off his eyelashes and stared contemplatively out into the swirling whiteness. "Hogwarts is a semi-aware entity. It responds to those around it. Most obvious is the Room of Requirement and the movement of the staircases. The Head's office is another example; you yourself mentioned Dolores Umbridge. As I am sure you recall, the office sealed itself against her, and her rooms were never wholly secure. The school refused to recognise her as Headmistress. There have been cases in the past when a candidate was rejected by Hogwarts itself. To the disappointment and confusion of my colleagues, I was not one of them."

"What powers does it give you?" she asked faintly.

"I can access anywhere in the castle, regardless of what security measures are in place – except the Chamber of Secrets, which is not counted as part of Hogwarts. I know all the secret passages – you learned when you became a teacher that there are more than the Marauders ever found; there are still more that are known only to the Headmaster or Headmistress. I can command the house-elves, the portraits, the ghosts, the statues and the suits of armour. I can activate the high-level emergency wards that protect Hogwarts. I can walk freely in the grounds, including the Forbidden Forest, without risk of harm. I can seal parts of the castle against anyone except McGonagall. I can control the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall – a small thing, but it can be amusing. And, as you have observed, I always know who is nearby."

"My God," she repeated softly, stunned.

"Astonishing. Hermione Granger is officially lost for words. It really must be my birthday," he commented in amusement.

"Oh, shut up," she told him. "This is incredible. But why would Hogwarts recognise two masters?"

"It has happened before, when an incumbent has been very ill – they aren't dead, they cannot articulate a resignation and they can't be sacked for being ill. Or when the current incumbent has to be absent for a long period of time. The school chooses whether or not to respond in such cases. Hogwarts' semi-sentience is one reason why the Ministry has very little power here."

"And nobody else knows?"

"Oh, no. Everybody knows. But nobody has realised that they know. All the information is there. But even you needed a few hints to put it all together, so I am certainly not worried about anyone else working it out."

That was actually a compliment. This is surreal. Hermione attempted to gather her scrambled thoughts. "And if they were to find out?"

He tensed. Only slightly, but it was noticeable. An edge of wariness crept into his black eyes as he answered cautiously, "That would be bad."

She smiled slowly up at him. "Well then, Severus. You had best make it worth my while to keep silent, hadn't you?"

He relaxed fractionally at her tone, but his eyes remained guarded. "What did you have in mind?"

"A bargain, something a Slytherin can appreciate. Silence in exchange for knowledge and privacy."

"Go on."

"Ensure that my rooms are private, and teach me the secrets of Hogwarts, and I'll keep your secrets."

He relaxed a little more and considered her offer, his eyes half-hooded. "Brave little Gryffindor, to attempt to bargain with a Slytherin," he murmured. "Very well. You have a deal."

The following Saturday, Hermione had no real work to do, and went looking for Severus. She had expected him to be in his laboratory working, but there was no sign of him; he wasn't on the Marauder's Map, either, which meant he was either in one of the secret areas the Marauders had never found, or he was out in the grounds, or he wasn't in Hogwarts at all. She chose to search the grounds, on the basis that of her three options that was the only one where she stood a chance of finding him.

His location, when she finally found him, came as a surprise – she found him sitting on a fallen tree beside Dumbledore's tomb, staring up at the expanse of white marble with no real expression on his face. She sat beside him without saying anything, huddling into her robe against the cold, and after a long time he observed quietly, "I've never been here before. I couldn't make myself come here, in that final year. I've never seen it."

"There's an obelisk on the far side, carved with all the names of the Order," she replied softly.

"I saw it." His own name wasn't there, a fact that she was certain he had noticed. She studied the expression on his face, trying without success to read the nameless emotions in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking as he stared at his master's tomb.

"What he asked of you was unfair," she said finally.

"You don't know everything he asked of me, or you wouldn't say something so trite," he replied with no real malice behind the words, but rather with a cold, tired and grim certainty that made her shiver and conclude that she probably didn't want to know what he meant. He added softly, "Ab amicis honesta petamus."

"What does that mean?"

"'One should only ask from a friend what he is capable of.' Not that Dumbledore and I were ever truly friends."

Her Gryffindor courage failed her and she shied away from the subject to approach the real reason she had come to find him. "I expected you to be working in your lab." He shrugged slightly in reply, and after a moment she continued slowly, "In fact, you don't seem to be doing much work at all..." He didn't react in any way; that in itself was a confirmation, but she wanted to hear it from him. "Severus, is it possible that the problem with your health is not as serious as you led me to believe?"

After a long pause, he nodded once, a stiff jerk of his head. His eyes were dull.

"Why did you lie to me?" she asked, a little surprised that it hurt.

"You cannot possibly be surprised that I did," he said sarcastically, but his heart obviously wasn't in it. After a moment he said flatly, "You would not have helped me if you didn't feel guilt and a sense of obligation."

"Yes, I would. All you had to do was ask."

He snorted. "Even if I believed you, I had no way of knowing that," he pointed out with bleak and flawless logic. "You hated me as a child, deservedly so perhaps. You hated me even more during the war, with less cause. You hated me afterwards despite knowing the truth. How was I to know that two or three short meetings would have been enough to change that?" His tone was heavy with scepticism, and he clearly didn't believe it. "I played on your emotions because I saw no other way to persuade you to help me."

"No," she snapped at him, irrationally angry. "You did it because that's the way you always act. You're incapable of simply being honest."

"Perhaps," he replied indifferently, still staring at the white marble of Dumbledore's tomb. His lack of response only made her angrier.

"So what was the real reason, then? You at least owe me that much!"

"I owe you nothing," he hissed. "I paid all my debts long ago, as best I could."

"No, Snape, you didn't. I risked a great deal to bring you here. I could have lost my job and my friends. And you lied to me to make me do it. You owe me an explanation, if nothing else."

He shivered, a gesture that had little if anything to do with the temperature, rubbing restlessly at his arm. The bleak dullness in his eyes had become more pronounced until their black depths were utterly lifeless, reflecting the stark whiteness of the tomb in front of him. Finally he said heavily, "There was no reason. No grand plot, no quest, no ulterior motive. I just wanted to come home."

Whatever answer she had been expecting, that wasn't it. She stared at him in disbelief. "And that's it?" she asked as sarcastically as she could manage.

"That's it," he replied tiredly. "Is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes," she said bluntly. "You always have an ulterior motive. You've never done anything simply for its own sake in your life. And you've lied so often that nobody can tell when you're being truthful."

He looked at her with a resigned expression, as though he had expected this reaction all along, then shrugged slightly and turned back to the memorial.

"Damnit, Snape, don't you even care? Doesn't it bother you at all, what you do to people?" There was a part of her that wanted to provoke his temper, that wanted him to argue and fight back, so that they could scream at one another and thus vent some emotions; this bleak acceptance was troubling her and making it difficult to stay angry.

"Whatever answer I give, you will believe what you wish to believe and nothing more." She got the feeling that he wasn't just answering her question but speaking of something else entirely. Slowly he levered himself to his feet and brushed the snow from his robes, avoiding her eyes. Turning away, he paused, his eyes on the ground, and when it came his voice was so quiet that she barely heard him.

"For what it's worth... I am sorry." Then he was gone, limping away into the trees.

I just wanted to come home.

Surely it wasn't so hard to believe? Misanthrope he might be, but he could still feel lonely, and he'd been alone for so long. The snowy forest turned into a black and white blur as he stumbled through the trees. Ten years, ten desperately long years when he had scarcely spoken to anyone, when he had avoided all forms of contact; and long before that, really. He'd been alone for most of his life. He knew more than Luna about the psychology of touch; he had known what the isolation was doing to him; but he had been too afraid and too ashamed to try and return or to try and form new connections.

Three years ago he had given up and returned to Britain, reasoning that being in his native land once more might help him feel less alone – he knew the customs, knew the language, knew the geography. And it had worked, for a little while, but in the end it had made the loneliness worse – to be so close, and yet so far away. Finally he had assessed the broken shell of his life and he had decided that his sanity could endure no more, and decided to return to the world he had left behind and put an end to his exile. Even if they killed him for his past crimes, or sent him to Azkaban – death would almost be a kindness, and he would lose his mind one way or another anyway if this continued so the Dementors might as well take it. It was that or suicide, and he had concluded that the small chance of returning to some sort of familiarity in his own world was worth the risk. He could always kill himself later if things didn't go according to plan.

Not that it was much of a plan, he had to admit. He'd simply found somewhere more public and easily traced to park his caravan and started to wander around Muggle London with the vague idea that sooner or later someone would recognise him, or think they had, and start digging. It was just sheer bad luck that the person who found him was one of the Golden Trio; still, she had been better than Potter or Weasley, who would have hexed him on sight.

Perhaps he shouldn't have lied to her. Then again, he hadn't technically lied; all the symptoms he had described were real, and so were the attacks. He simply hadn't corrected her assumption of the severity. And he had needed the lab to create a treatment. Still, there might have been another way... but he couldn't have known that. Why would anyone have helped him willingly? He had never intended to tell the simple truth to whoever found him. Nobody would have believed he just wanted to come home, and nobody would have been willing to help him just for that.

She had surpassed all his wildest dreams. Not only had she found a place in the wizarding world for him, but she had brought him home; more than that, she had showed him a glimpse of friendship. Turning, he looked at the castle visible above the trees. She was right, he owed her a great deal, but not for the reasons she believed. There was no way he could repay this debt. She had helped him return to the only home he had ever really known, and she had done so for a lie.

He wasn't sure what he had been trying to apologise for. Years of cruelty to a frightened girl, perhaps, or years of tormenting others like her. This latest lie amongst thousands of others. The mistake he had made so many years ago that had made an infant boy into a target and made the resulting war so much worse. All his failures, all his shortcomings.

There's too much to apologise for. It will never be enough.

He didn't even feel it when he started to weep. Even when the tears froze on his cheeks, he didn't realise. He had been so hurt for so long that he could no longer tell when the pain grew too much to bear.

Hermione had spent the rest of the day in a towering fury, venting her feelings in a long and angry letter to Luna that she had regretted as soon as she had sent it. No matter how angry she was with him, she could understand his reasoning, and she had seen the pain on his face when he had left. Finally, after a storm of weeping that left her feeling exhausted, she had curled up with Crookshanks to watch the Marauder's Map; he hadn't returned to the castle when she finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.

When she woke on Sunday she checked the Map again and found that he was at last back; in the staff room rather than his own rooms, which was surprising. Crookshanks gave her a reproachful look when she got up, and jumped lightly onto her desk to paw at a sliver of parchment which turned out to be Luna's reply.

Are you angry with him, or with yourself?

"Shut up, Ravenclaw," she muttered resignedly, feeling a little ashamed this morning. Scribbling an apologetic response, she took a shower and was feeling more like herself when she entered the staff room and settled down with a pile of essays in need of marking.

Severus looked terrible, she noticed in the few moments when she risked glancing at him. His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken. He was apparently engrossed in the newspaper, but it didn't take long for her to realise that he had yet to turn a page; it wasn't long before she caught him glancing uneasily at her. Clearly he felt as uncomfortable about the argument as she did; perversely, that made her feel better. If they both wanted to make amends, there might be a way out.

That afternoon they were alone in the staff room. Making herself a cup of coffee, Hermione paused and eyed him consideringly, debating whether or not to make the first move; she doubted he would do so. She found her eye drawn to the high neck of his robe, and for a moment couldn't understand why until she saw the outline of the knotted cord just visible under the cloth. He was wearing the necklace she had given him for his birthday. Making up her mind swiftly, she poured him a cup of coffee as well and put it next to him on the way back to her seat, saying nothing; she could feel his eyes on her, although when she looked up at him he was staring at the newspaper once more.

When his voice broke the silence some time later, it startled her. "I believe you wished to see some of the secrets of Hogwarts," he said softly, not looking at her. "If you are free when your marking is complete, we could perhaps make a start..." It was a peace offering, of sorts, although not quite an apology, and she took it.

"I would like that, Severus."

True to his word, he began to show her a side of Hogwarts that she had never known existed. It seemed almost as if there was a secret passage inside every wall; far more than the Marauders or the Weasley twins had ever known about. There were hidden rooms everywhere, and concealed places that seemed more like spy holes than anything else; he seemed amused when she told him that.

"Naturally. Did you never wonder how Dumbledore always seemed to know everything that occurred?"

She made a face. "Spying is such a prosaic explanation. It takes all the mystery away."

"As I said before, most things lose their mystery when you look closer."

"Surely some things really are as romantic as they seem," she challenged idly, not really believing it herself but enjoying the argument nonetheless. It was late one Friday evening and they were in his living room by the warmth of the fire as a storm raged outside.

"Such as?"

"Your bathroom," she suggested impulsively, recalling vividly how stunned she had been the first time she'd seen it. The sheer decadence was surprising.

"I'm afraid not," he drawled. "Practical reasons again. There were times when I was too badly injured to have been able to climb in and out of a normal tub, so it's sunken, and it's black because there were times when light hurt my eyes and because the blood didn't show so much, and it's marble because marble stays cold easily and that is one of the ways of treating the Cruciatus. Horace chose not to change it, and I can't be bothered. I only use the shower anyway these days."

"Another myth ruined," Hermione observed mournfully. "And here was I thinking that you had a softer side." She wouldn't be able to look at the room in the same way again now, picturing him alone and hurt.

"My apologies for destroying your illusions."

"Really, Severus, for such an accomplished liar, you're absolutely terrible at sounding sincere," she told him dryly, and saw the answering gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Speaking of romantic notions..."

"Which we weren't."

"I was. Don't interrupt. I'm trying to give you a warning."

"About what?"

"It's Valentine's Day on Monday."

"And...?"

"Minerva is worse than Albus ever was."

Something like horror crossed his face. "You can't be serious. The woman is about as sentimental as... well, as I am. She used to argue with Dumbledore every year about it. She very nearly strangled Lockhart after what he did." He shuddered at the memory and added, "She would have had to get in line."

"I am amazed you let him survive the year," she agreed, remembering the absolutely murderous expression the Potions master had worn that morning as Lockhart babbled about love potions.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling nastily. "Maybe I just didn't want to make so many adolescent girls cry simultaneously," he suggested pointedly. "Including yourself, I seem to recall."

Hermione felt herself blush crimson. "I didn't realise you knew about that..."

"It was hardly difficult to figure out," he said dryly. "If you insist on drawing hearts on your timetable, it is not wise to leave said timetable out on your desk in a lesson where the teacher walks around looking at his students' desks. In any case, Lockhart kept prattling on about all the people who had sent him Valentines. The only reason I didn't hit him with a Silencing charm – or something worse – is that Dumbledore made me promise not to use magic against him under any circumstances."

"What about the Duelling Club?" she asked, eager to change the subject away from her childhood infatuation. I was twelve! Well, thirteen.

He smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Once he asked for aid, Dumbledore somewhat unwisely decided it would be amusing to force me to do so, and graciously volunteered me for the task. Lockhart should be very grateful that I chose to humiliate him rather than curse him."

Yes, he should have been, Hermione decided. It had been something of a shock to see that side of Severus; devoid of his billowing robes, he had been lean and powerful and dangerous. She had only been a girl then, but sixteen years later she still had yet to see a wizard who could match his reflexes in a duel. It had definitely made an impression.

"What happened to McGonagall to make her change her mind?" he asked, returning to the original topic.

"Truthfully, I think it's because she misses Albus," she replied a little uncertainly. She had always wondered about the two of them.

He snorted. "Perhaps."

"Was there anything between them?"

"No." He suddenly looked amused, as though at some private joke. "Let us say... she wasn't precisely his type..."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was getting better at reading her companion's moods, and his expression showed that there was a lot more to this than he was saying. "Was someone else more his type?"

"Nobody you knew. Nobody I knew, come to that; it was long over before I came to Hogwarts. Not that I think that would have made a difference, had he met someone he liked; he simply never did, as far as I know."

"You're speaking in riddles again, Severus."

"I enjoy irritating you," he replied with a straight face.

"You're very good at it," she grumbled. "Will you tell me?"

He hesitated, evidently thinking hard. Finally he exhaled and closed his eyes. "Frankly I'm amazed nobody ever guessed," he muttered. "Once I found out, it seemed so blatantly obvious I couldn't imagine how I missed it."

"Severus," she snapped, exasperated. "Either tell me or don't; just stop hinting."

"Fine," he replied, amusement in his voice. "Since you ask so nicely... Dumbledore was a homosexual."

Hermione stared at him for a long time. "How do you know?" she managed finally, her voice hoarse.

"Occlumency practice," he replied laconically, his eyes still closed. "I taught myself, but once I became his spy he tested me from time to time, and occasionally I saw more than he wished me to."

"And... you're sure?"

"Oh, yes. He was as bent as a ha'penny spoon," he said almost cheerfully.

"What a charming phrase," she muttered.

"It shouldn't be that much of a surprise... Have you ever seen a straight man wear anything with purple sequins on it?" he asked mildly, opening his eyes. "Besides, bisexuality is far more common in the wizarding world than amongst Muggles, and thus, so is homosexuality."

Her mind promptly went down an unpleasant new route, and in fascinated horror she asked uneasily, "Are you..." Oh, God. I've just asked Severus Snape if he swings both ways. I didn't know I had a death wish.

His expression clouded over, but he didn't seem angry as such, and even answered her, choosing his words delicately and with some care. "I have been, in the past, but... not willingly."

She considered this and felt sick. He had hinted at it before, once or twice, implying that certain punishments amongst the Death Eaters could be sexual, non-consensual and violent, but he had never said so openly and clearly didn't want to do so now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business anyway."

"I did bring the subject up," he replied. She could see his relief that she hadn't questioned any further, and that in itself raised a new question.

"Why do you answer when I ask personal questions, Severus? You obviously don't want to talk about things like that, so why don't you just refuse? You always used to."

About to answer, he paused and frowned, his dark eyes turning distant. Finally he answered very slowly, "I don't know." There was nothing to betray him in his words, his tone, his expression or his body language, but Hermione was suddenly certain that he was lying.

They both survived Valentine's Day more or less intact; Minerva seemed a little more restrained this year. Hermione wasn't sure how Severus had reacted, since he had refused to leave the dungeons all day. She did notice when she dropped by for a visit that his rooms were devoid of the suspicious faint tinge of pink that had stained the rest of the castle's walls all day, but he only laughed when she asked him to remove it from her rooms as well. It was nice to see him laughing, she supposed, but she wasn't a pink sort of person any more than he was – well, okay, maybe not quite that bad.

A shift in the weather near the end of February marked the start of Quidditch for the year. To the eternal despair of both Harry and Ron, she had never learned any particular appreciation for the sport; it caught her by surprise when she sought refuge in Severus' rooms and found him getting ready to go outside and watch the match.

"Slytherin are playing," he pointed out in response to her questioning look. "As their Head of House, I need to be there."

"Horace never bothered."

"That is why I need to be there," he replied quietly, picking up his gloves. "Are you coming?"

"I might as well," she decided, hastily Transfiguring herself some more suitable outdoor clothing and following him outside. As they picked their way carefully down the path towards the pitch – his limp seemed worse in this cold weather – she asked, "So you don't follow Quidditch for its own sake?"

"No. I can play – I refereed a match in your first year, if you remember – but I was never a fanatic about it."

"Did you ever play for Slytherin?"

His lips twisted into a thin, humourless smile. "No."

That smile meant there was more to the story, she had learned. "Why not?"

"Because unaccountably there was a strange accident on the one occasion that I tried out for the team," he replied in a bored tone of voice. "When I woke up in the hospital wing a day and a half later with a cracked skull, I decided that the sport was not for me."

Frowning slightly, Hermione processed this, trying to find the hidden meaning in his words. Sometimes talking to Severus was a little like speaking a foreign language; you had to really concentrate. "...The Marauders?" she concluded finally, looking up at him unhappily.

"Almost certainly. Naturally, no proof of wrongdoing was found – possibly because nobody actually looked for it." He shrugged a shoulder. "Truthfully, I only tried out to try and improve my standing with my House; I was never particularly bothered about not making the team, and I couldn't have afforded a decent broom anyway."

Steering the conversation away from the awkward subject as they took their seats in the staff section, she asked, "What position did you play?"

"Chaser," he replied absently; he seemed to be thinking about something else. Hermione couldn't really think of anything else to ask; she barely remembered what a Chaser was. In any case, silence with Severus was usually quite peaceful these days, and whatever it was he was brooding about didn't seem to be making him too depressed or angry, so she left him to his thoughts and attempted to follow the match.

The commentator was certainly no match for Luna Lovegood, and wasn't on a par with Lee Jordan either, but she managed to keep up with what was going on. Ravenclaw beat Slytherin, much as expected, but there was only ten points in it and Severus seemed reasonably pleased with the result.

"May I congratulate you, Professor Granger?" he murmured as they walked back towards the castle.

She frowned at him. "What for?"

"You didn't set fire to anyone."

Hermione looked at him sharply. He was apparently concentrating on the treacherous footing, his expression carefully blank, but there was a hint of humour in his black eyes. "You knew it was me all along?"

"Not quite," he conceded, smiling ruefully. "I had seen you using the same fire before, to keep warm; I vaguely recognised it and I eventually added two and two."

"You didn't say anything."

"I had no proof, and I very much doubt anyone would have wished you punished for it – rewarded, perhaps. In any case, I understood why you did it – you believed you were saving Potter's life. I suppose in a twisted way, you were, since you broke Quirrell's concentration as well as my own."

"That's a very forgiving attitude for you..."

He snorted, skirting a particularly slippery stretch of the path with care for his bad leg. "With everything else I had to worry about, a minor burn and a scorched robe were the very least of my problems. I didn't consider it worth dwelling on."

"And once again you manage to deflate my ego. I'll have no sense of self worth left if I keep talking to you."

"It would take far more than my feeble efforts to dent your self confidence, Hermione, I am sure," he replied dryly as they entered the castle. "You have come a very long way from the frightened eleven year old who was stupid enough to almost be killed by a troll because she was crying in the bathroom over what a moronic boy thought of her."

She shook her head in rueful amazement, knowing better than to ask how he'd found out the truth of that incident. "You can twist a compliment into an insult better than any Slytherin I have ever met, Severus."

"Thank you," he answered with a mocking half-bow as he turned away towards the dungeons.

Things are ticking along nicely. Next chapter may not be up until Sunday, I'm not sure yet.