A/N: It's been a few days since I posted, so I've written an extra long one to reward you for your patience. I can't believe how many views this story has received! Thanks so much—I can't wait to keep writing more!

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****Chapter FOURTEEN****

Snape sweeps his eyes over Hermione's beaded bag, the empty campsite, the wand still in her hand. "So you were just going to leave after discovering who I really am. And you were going to steal my potion. Is that all you are now, Granger: an oath-breaker and a thief?"

"I'm not going to let you goad me into an argument."

"Oh you were going to argue? When the facts are right in front of me? Please, let's see how you play this out."

Hermione sighs and stops pointing her wand at Snape. "Okay, okay. I left some of the potion for you," she grumbles. She summons two vials where she'd left them at the base of the tree.

Snape intercepts them and places them in his pocket. "And our deal?" he asks.

"You're serious."

"We agreed to help each other. Both of us knew up front that the other was hiding something. The terms have not changed."

"So far, I'm the only one who's tried to hold up my end."

Snape nods. "Well then, shall we?" He steps back and motions for her to go ahead, as if they'll just pick up their search as planned.

Hermione's nostrils flare. "Don't push it, Snape. I'm still thinking about hexing you."

"And now that you've told me, you are less likely to do it, I think." Snape waves his hand, and their two chairs appear side by side next to the cold fire pit—one wooden, one comfy.

Hermione waves her wand, and transfigures the comfy one into another wooden one. Then she pulls her chair apart from his, just out of arm's reach.

Snape sits down first, the wooden chair creaking as he sinks into it. But he doesn't offer any information. He just sits and looks at her. If he thinks she's going to start the conversation, he's dead wrong.

Finally, Hermione sits down, too, her chair angled so she can see him as well as the ashes of the fire. She points her wand at the remaining charred logs and they burst into flames.

"It's a little warm for a fire, isn't it?" Snape asks.

Hermione ignores him, watching the flames lick up the wood, which crackles and pops.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he asks.

"You said you had a lot of explaining to do. I'm waiting."

Snape smirks, not unkindly. "Shall I tell you how I didn't die first, or why I'm here in this forest?"

"Whichever you feel is best." She crosses her arms and stares at him. "Surprise me."

"In that case, I shall start with neither. Do you remember a few years ago when Dumbledore reinstated the Order of the Phoenix? Yes, of course you do . . . How old were you then?"

"Fifteen, I think. It was right after Voldemort killed Cedric Diggory."

Snape winced. "Miss Granger: Albus Dumbledore may have been comfortable saying that name any time he wished, and even passed on the foolishness to Potter, but I associate it with some very bad memories that neither one of them could imagine in their most terrifying of nightmares."

Hermione nods. It is no different out in the larger wizarding community. Years after Voldemort's defeat, his name still brings terror and fear to those who speak it, perhaps more so than before the Battle of Hogwarts.

"That's a grim smile if I ever saw one," Snape says. "Something wrong?"

She clears her throat and says, "I was just thinking: Vold—, I mean, You-Know-Who, wanted to live forever, and he wanted power. He achieved it after all, in a way. His name still holds power over people's hearts, whether they say it aloud or not."

Snape frowns. "You are correct."

"Still, I should think you, of all people . . ." Hermione trails off, not sure if what she was going to say would offend him.

"Me of all people . . . what?"

She takes a deep breath and plunges on. "That you would have more right to use his name than anybody, as often as you deceived him. Not many got away with that."

"No one else got away with that."

"Is that why you're here? You really are tracking down ex-Death Eaters?"

"Yes. But that's not where I was going to begin. When you were fifteen, I was returning to the Dark Lord's side—"

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Elevate him to some sort of position by calling him a Lord."

Snape sighs. "Are you ever going to let me tell my story? Because now I really want to, Granger, since you are making it so difficult."

Hermione has to stop from smiling, reminding herself that she's still mad at him. She gives him a curt nod. "Continue."

"Thank you. So, when I rejoined You-Know-Who"—here Snape throws Hermione an exasperated look—"I knew that I would likely die. This is not news to you, I'm sure. I even wrote out a will and passed it to Dumbledore for safe-keeping.

"And then I was surprised: I lived, much longer than I expected. And I kept getting away with it. So I let You-Know-Who"—he says again with an emphasizing glare—"teach me more Dark Magic. Which only made me stronger, of course. And less likely to die. And then I thought: Maybe you're going to make it to the end, after all. So I decided to try to live.

"I'm not sure why the urge to survive hit me so strongly. I'd always loathed living, in so many ways. Maybe it had something to do with . . ." Snape falls into silence, his gaze drifting off into the forest, looking at something only he could see.

Hermione thought she knew what he was thinking. "To do with . . . Lily?"

Snape nods, his attention snapping back to Hermione and his story. "Yes, maybe. Or maybe I'd just spent so much of my life consumed with my own trouble that I decided it would be nice to finally see You-Know-Who die a horrible death, to make up for causing me to be miserable. If I were released from him, maybe I would be released from myself.

"Do you also remember when Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini? No, don't say anything, just nod. I don't want to be interrupted again."

Hermione nods, too entranced by his storytelling to think of being offended.

"No one but Arthur Weasley himself knew that I was the one who helped the Healers brew a potion to negate the effects of the snake's venom. And the Healers didn't know who I was, either, thanks to another Glamor."

Hermione mouth drops open. "So you kept some for yourself."

"Well, no, it didn't occur to me then. Partly because I hadn't anticipated living very long. But later, after I decided I wanted to live, I brewed more and always kept a fresh batch on my person. It seemed like useless insurance, but I figured what the hell, at least that's one death I won't have to fear."

Hermione waited, breathless.

"That night in the Shack, I was so surprised to see you and Potter and Weasley appear that I forgot to go for the antidote. And of course I was bleeding more than I'd ever imagined was possible while still being conscious. And well, you know what happened next."

"I'd like to ask you something about that," Hermione says.

Snape pauses his story, his silence giving her permission to continue.

"Had you always planned on telling Harry? About his mum?"

Snape straightens in his seat. He's silent so long Hermione thinks he's going to ignore her question.

Then he says, "No, I hadn't planned on telling him. But then, when I thought I really was going to die, because I was bleeding so badly and none of you lot knew what to do, that changed. Suddenly I didn't want to die without someone knowing the truth about me.

"I'd worked so hard to keep it secret, even though I didn't want the secret to begin with. If I died, it didn't need to be secret anymore. Of course, by telling Potter, it ensured everyone knew about it. He couldn't keep it to himself." Snape let a little bitterness show through at this last statement.

"You talk about all this very matter-of-factly."

"I've had some time to think about it, or didn't you know?"

"But you didn't take the potion, you died . . . I saw you."

Snape nods. "Surprise," he says dryly.

". . . and I remember thinking then," Hermione continues, "that if I'd known a bit more, maybe I could have saved you."

Snape raises an eyebrow. "Why? You thought I was a Death Eater and a murderer. Why would you want me saved?"

Hermione blinks. "I never ever wanted to see anyone die again. And at the time, even though he didn't know the truth, Harry didn't enjoy watching you die. I hope you know that."

Snape's eyes turn cold, and Hermione knows he doesn't believe her. But then: "There's a moment," he says softly, almost to himself, "between losing your grip on life, and actually dying. Like your body knows it's dying and has already decided to do it, but your soul is still working out that it's time to go. That's where I was when you left the Shack."

"And then?"

"Fawkes."

"The phoenix?"

"I don't know what he saw in Dumbledore, or where he'd been since the old man's death, but he turned up."

"And so he . . ."

Snape nods. "A single tear in each wound. It healed, despite the venom. Much to my own surprise, my soul decided to stay. And when I came around, the bird was still standing there next to me, like he wanted to be sure it had worked. Then I took the antivenin, just for good measure, and he flew off. I haven't seen him since."

Hermione's head reels with all this new information, and she doesn't know whether to smile at Snape's storytelling abilities, or cry at the fact that her former Potions professor has just told her the most magical and romantic story she's ever heard.

She decides to do neither, and asks another question. "Why didn't you make yourself known? You had plenty of chances. Most people believe Harry's story about you, you know. And the ones that don't have good enough sense not to express their opinions in public."

"When I woke, I wasn't exactly in the best state of mind. I stumbled out of the Shack, thinking I'd nearly died in there—again!—and hid in the forest. Are you saying I should have stayed to fight?"

"What? No! I hadn't even thought about it."

"I have," he says grimly. "And I did. In fact, I was rallying myself to rush into the Castle, defend it with my last breath, as it were, when I heard the unmistakable sounds of triumph coming from the Great Hall. I was too late to do anything, so I retreated back into the forest.

"But since then, being dead has been very useful. No one bothers me, I live life as I choose, without obligating myself to anybody. I like it. For the first time in my life, I'm free."

"But you're not, or you wouldn't be stamping around this forest, looking for ex-Death Eaters."

"Ah, well, that has advantages I don't care to explain right this minute."

Hermione flushes, although she doesn't know why. Perhaps it's the wry smile growing on his face. He really looks nicer when he does that.

"So, um, apart from the Disapparating," she says, "do you have any other lingering effects from your injury?"

"No, just that one. The scars are hideous, though, or haven't you noticed?"

No, she hasn't. She was so concerned with discovering Orev was Severus Snape, and then listening to his story, she hadn't chanced a look. Now that her mind is on it though, she can't help but glance at his neck. He shouldn't mind; he's the one who drew attention to it, after all.

Snape's robes cover the bottom scar. The other is just under his chin, which is why she hasn't noticed it yet. It's a large circular scar, raised above the skin around it. It's pinker than his pale face.

"So have I explained everything to your satisfaction, Miss Granger?" he asks, drawing her eyes back up to his.

"Yes. And I don't even know where to begin expressing how . . . shocked . . . I am at it all. I don't think I've ever been so surprised in my life. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

The hint of a sneer returns to Snape's face, and suddenly he reminds her again of her old Potions professor. "Why would I?"

"Well, I mean, we were both on the same side, in the War. You were in the Order. I may not have officially been in it, but I think it's safe to say I did my share to contribute. And if anybody would want to learn you were alive, it would be some of the remaining Order members."

Snape scoffs. "Least of all them. They felt I betrayed them, too, after I kept my promise to Dumbledore. And that's not something people easily get over. Besides," he says, leaning forward in his seat, intense and dark and careful all at the same time, "there's not many of them left. Let them live in peace. I'm glad about the way things have turned out."

"Are you really?"

"And so are you."

"No I'm not."

"But you will be. Wren . . . er, can I still call you that?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest."

"Okay, Miss Granger, take some advice from me without reading anything else into it: The hurt you are going through now will pass, but only if you let it."

Hermione breathes deeply, trying to keep the tears at bay. He is right, of course, and she pushes aside the inkling that Snape might not be a nasty git and thinks about what advice she would give to another person in her shoes.

She would tell them to not let their grief ruin their lives. To not stall the healing process by looking for someone to blame. But it seems impossible to let go when you're the one experiencing the grief.

"That's just the thing, Prof—er, hmm . . ."

"Call me Severus. Or Orev, or nasty git. I've been called worse."

"Oh no! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. I don't blame you. It's exactly how I wanted you to feel about me when you were a student."

"But not now?" she blurts before she can stop herself.

"Why would I now?" Severus stands and walks around the fire to stretch his legs. As they've been talking, the sun has worked its way down the sky. It is late afternoon.

Hermione shrugs. "I really didn't think you'd changed your opinion of me. I'm still best friends with Harry Potter."

"I'll forgive you for that, I suppose. Tell me what you were going to say."

"I was just going to say, that part of me doesn't want to let go of Ron. Like I'm betraying his memory or something. Yes, I realize it's all very textbook and cliche, but there you have it. There's a reason grief is even in the textbook, after all: because it's irrational, despite the fact that everybody goes through it at some point or other."

"And you've had to deal with more grief than people twice your age."

"And you."

"No." Severus stops circling the fire and shakes his head. "Not me. Not like you have."

Hermione wonders what he means by this, but she doesn't feel like pressing him any further at the moment.

"So," he says, back to business, "what about our bargain?"

"Can you really help me find Ron's killer?"

"If that's what you wish, then yes."

"But I don't know if I can really help you."

"Why's that?"

"Because, well, I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know."

"At the risk of sounding like an overenthusiastic teacher, I'll thank you not to underestimate yourself, Granger. I've seen what you can do. And I know you haven't been idle in recent years. If I say you can help, you can help."

His confidence in her is reassuring. No, more than that, it's motivating. The anger she felt a few hours ago is gone, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose that only comes from wanting to help someone else.

She's going to help Severus Snape restore his power, or her name isn't Hermione Granger. She stands to face Severus.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" she asks.

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*********End Chapter********

Well? What do you think? I know you probably have more questions, but in the words of Albus Dumbledore, I've given you "quite enough to be going on with."

Look for another post this week, of course. I'm doing my best to keep up with the story and all other things.

:)