Chapter 21

As Hermione sat shivering in the tepid bath water, she waited until she could hear Snape's footsteps receding behind the door before she started to slowly ease out of her protective stance. Though the air was warm enough to evaporate much of the moisture off of her exposed skin as she sat there, she still couldn't stop her body from shivering. She'd just woken up naked in a bathtub with her hand between her legs, and had no sooner taken stock of her strange surroundings than her Potions professor had barged in on her with his wand raised and a formidable expression on his face. So far it was shaping up to be a trying day.

Not that she had any idea what day it was... for the life of her she couldn't recall what she was doing there, or how she'd arrived; the last thing she could remember was breaking into the Department of Mysteries with Harry and the gang, and then... an accident in the Potions classroom? ...that didn't seem right, but she had the vague sense that something had gone wrong, and Professor Snape had been there...

Oh God, Professor Snape— he was out there right now, waiting for her. Her gut twisted with the idea of facing him after what had just happened. She needed him to explain what was going on, but for the moment she wanted to remain ignorant rather than having to occupy the same room with him (let alone the same country, for that matter). He'd seen more of her body than even her own mother had the privilege of seeing, these days... speaking of which...

Looking down to evaluate what had just been bared before him, Hermione took the time to study her own body, amazed at the changes she discovered. She hardly recognized her own breasts, which seemed to have developed a surprising plumpness overnight; though they hadn't been under-developed before, now they seemed to have grown more fully into their shape, looking firm and rounded in all the right places. She couldn't stop herself from groping them tentatively, surprised when a small, rosy nipple sprang to life under her touch— they hadn't been that sensitive before, either...

As her attention moved downwards, she marveled at the subtly defined musculature of her legs, squeezing a thigh and finding it remarkably solid. Then, just above the thigh... when had she started shaving down there? — someone had been maintaining the mess of curls between her legs, keeping the patch of hair neat and trimmed, with all of the lower hairs shaved away completely. She wondered why she'd bothered; it wasn't as if anyone besides herself saw what was going on down there... right?

A little tremor shot through her as she contemplated the wild idea that she had a secret sex life that she didn't know about, and she pushed aside the distressing thought to try and regain some critical focus. Obviously there were gaps in her memory; perhaps someone had obliviated her, and she was just readjusting from the spell. Surely these memories would resurface in time— she just needed to calm down and figure this out. With some reluctance, she realized that she needed Snape's help.

If Hermione hadn't been prepared for what she'd seen in the tub, she certainly wasn't ready for what she saw when she stepped out and stood in front of the mirror. With shaking hands she reached up and released the clasp pinning her hair to the top of her head, gasping as it fell down around her shoulders in thick, soft waves. The color seemed different than before; it must've been charmed a few shades lighter, achieving a rich honey brown that dramatized the auburn of her irises and contrasted expertly with her dark brows, lending her eyes a certain depth that she could hardly look away from. Most astonishing, though, was the texture: she'd never seen her hair so sleek and tame (though even 'tame' seemed the wrong word, since it was still thick and wild as ever— only now, this look suited her— even looked intentional...). Whatever had been done to it had been done by a very skilled beautician; this clearly was no ordinary wand work.

Looking around the small space, Hermione tried to locate her clothing. All she could come up with was a small denim dress that had been draped over the towel rack, which couldn't have been hers; as pretty as it was, she'd never wear such a thing. The top was much too revealing, and the skirt was rather shorter than she was comfortable with given the fact that she couldn't locate any undergarments. Her only other option was a silky floral robe which she found hung on the back of the door, the thin fabric of which did little to hide her pebbled nipples. Ultimately she opted to wear the dress underneath the robe, despite the clashing styles and the unfortunate bulkiness of this look.

After fussing in front of the mirror for a little while longer (truthfully she was stalling from the inevitable confrontation, but she figured she might as well make herself as presentable as possible while doing so), she eventually summoned the courage to open the bathroom door. She found the room outside empty, and tentatively stepped out to look around; one hand clung to the neckline of the robe, clutching it tightly closed. The room seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't place where she might've seen it before. She slowly crept out into the open space, somehow feeling as if she were trespassing. The area looked well lived in, with bedding folded up on the sofa and the lingering smell of breakfast in the air. Was this where Professor Snape lived? Surely not— it didn't seem at all like the kind of place she'd imagine him living in... in fact, there were far too many Muggle trappings for this to be a wizard's home. She noticed the heaping stack of pornographic magazines on the floor, sparing them a shocked glance before averting her eyes. If this was Snape's home, then he wasn't at all the kind of person she'd taken him for...

Then she noticed the view from the kitchen window, and pushed all other thoughts aside as she realized she was out in the middle of nowhere. For miles and miles, blank red earth stretched as far as the eye could see, scattered sparsely by trees and low shrubs, and broken only by the occasional mesa. It looked like the Australian Outback, from what she'd seen of it in some old travel pictures in her parents' photo album. What would she be doing out here, with Professor Snape?

Wanting to get a better look, she headed for the front door, finding it open. She gasped as she stepped out to find Snape on the far end of the porch, sitting stiffly with a cup in his hand. He was facing her as if he'd been waiting for her, and for the life of her she couldn't identify the look on his face. She schooled her own into a look of indignation, though she wasn't particularly upset with him; she just felt she needed to be on the offensive. As they continued to stare at each other, her increasing nervousness prompted her to speak first.

"I couldn't find any underwear," she blurted out, though it wasn't the first thing she meant to say to him (or to say at all, really). She blushed at Snape's perplexed reaction, and quickly attempted to direct his attention away from the fact that she wasn't wearing underwear. "Where are my clothes?"

Snape's confused expression deepened into one resembling impatience— though if that were the case, he seemed to be struggling to keep it in check.

"I would've thought your primary concern would've been more practical," he murmured, "for instance: don't you want to know where you are?"

Hermione tried not to let her embarrassment show, but it was no use. She tried to cover it with exasperation. "I figured we're somewhere in the Australian Outback," she replied in her no-nonsense, student voice, looking to him to confirm her deduction. When he only narrowed his eyes slightly, she continued, "Well? Am I right?"

"That's correct," he muttered.

Hermione nodded, looking out over the horizon as if there were answers to be found out there. When she found none, she turned to Snape again.

"Professor... what are we doing out here? Have I been obliterated?" she added in a smaller voice. The idea of someone tinkering with her mind was not one that she was at all comfortable with, no matter what the reasons. She only hoped they were justifiable.

"Yes," he answered in a voice as small as hers, "You were." Though Severus had been hoping to speak with Hermione again ever since Nina had taken over, he found himself at a loss of what to say to her now that she was back.

"I don't remember... well, anything, really... not since—" Hermione broke off her sentence, afraid to mention the break in at the Department of Mysteries to her professor. She was unaware that they'd already had this conversation— or at least one closely approximating it— in the living room yesterday.

"Since the Department of Mysteries?" Snape answered for her. Well, that settles that matter, she thought.

"Yes," she replied, "though even that memory seems a bit off. I'm having trouble recalling the details, but I remember it involved a lot of running... and danger, of course... then... I think some Death Eaters showed up." When Snape only nodded solemnly in response, she felt her blood run cold. "Oh, God— I was captured, wasn't I?"

"Yes," he confirmed, "By Dolohov. You were taken to the Dark Lord's headquarters."

Hermione nodded absently, her head swimming with the implications.

"What about Harry, is he alright? And Ron?" she asked with rising desperation, terrified that she might've been the sole survivor of the ordeal.

Snape looked irritated, but answered nonetheless. "They're fine," he answered shortly, "you were the only prisoner." Her relief was plain enough, though Snape knew all too well that she hadn't heard the worst of it yet. Wanting to delay that disclosure as much as possible, he unthinkingly told her a piece of news to distract her.

"Sirius Black is dead."

Hermione went very pale then and swallowed visibly, the pain in her eyes making him instantly regret telling her that detail.

"Oh no," she whispered, "no... not Sirius..."

"By Bellatrix Lestrange," he added quietly.

Hermione sat down carefully, leaning into a support beam to offset the heaviness that had descended upon her. It took her some time before she was able to speak.

"After all those years in Azkaban," she whispered harshly, tears blurring her vision, "that's so unfair..."

Severus decided not to interrupt, leaving her to mourn as he looked back out into the distance, taking another sip from his cup. If she had noticed the sharp smell of the custom-brewed spirit he was drinking, she didn't show it. He wasn't sure if he should leave her alone, but hoped that his presence— however distant— might offer some small comfort. He didn't think she'd take the news so hard; she'd barely known the man, as far as he understood it. Not like Severus himself had known him, to be sure. Despite his own heated animosity for the man during his lifetime, the news of his untimely demise had been particularly unsatisfying when Severus heard of it. At the time he'd been overwhelmed with the responsibility of rescuing Hermione, and had pushed aside his own feelings on the matter to focus on what needed to be done. Now, given an opportunity to reflect on it, he found himself unnervingly disheartened by the loss. Though he had no reason to feel sorry for the bastard, he couldn't help but recognize the tragedy of it all.

"Harry had only just found him; they'd had so little time together," Hermione continued, barely audible even in the quiet stillness. "But he was so happy to have a real family again, even if it was just each other. They both were."

Severus kept quiet, not trusting himself not to sound unkind where Potter and Black were concerned. After a while, Hermione spoke up.

"Professor, he didn't... I mean, how did it happen? He wasn't trying to help me, was he?"

Severus looked up and saw the guilt and fear that marred her features, and held her gaze as he answered.

"No, Miss Granger. As I understand it, you'd already been taken by then. No one had even realized as much until it was too late."

Hermione nodded, her lip quivering despite her relief as she willed herself not to cry. Her will wasn't strong enough, though, given all the additional stress she'd found herself under, and before she could help it she was breaking down in heavy sobs. Severus looked up in alarm.

"I told you it wasn't your fault," he assured her, not expecting this reaction from her. She only nodded in understanding, but her sobs wouldn't abate. At a loss, Severus rose to his feet. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked helplessly, unprepared to comfort a sobbing girl.

"I'm sorry," she cried, "just give me a m-moment," she replied, turning her splotchy face away from him.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, wanting an excuse to flee the porch.

"Yes, please," she gasped between shuddering sobs, "that'd be l-lovely." She broke down harder then, collapsing into her lap as grief wracked her body. Severus hurried inside, pausing to pick up a box of tissues, which he went back and placed gently beside her before retreating into the house. He stilled in the kitchen as a pang of grief gripped his own heart, breathing deeply as he allowed it to subside. He set about making the tea in a kind of daze, unable to completely focus on his task.

By the time he returned to the porch, Hermione had stopped crying and was sitting upright again beside a pile of tissues. She was staring resolutely at the ground, hardly noticing as Severus set a cup beside her. He decided to sit on the raised ledge of the doorway in the shade behind her as he drank his own tea thoughtfully.

"Oh, thank you," she said as she took notice of her tea cup, then paused as she moved to take a sip.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, seeing the look of displeasure cross her face.

"Oh, um... it's just that, I don't really like milky tea," she answered uncomfortably, "I'm sorry, I should've mentioned it..."

"You don't?" Severus said with some surprise, knowing how Nina took hers with plenty of milk and sugar.

"No," she replied tentatively, wondering why it should surprise him so, "I'm more of a straight-with-lemon sort of girl... though I appreciate the effort," she added with awkwardness.

"I'll fix you another," he said distractedly, pulling out his wand to vanish the contents of her cup as well as the mess of tissues beside her.

"You don't need to bother," she protested, feeling like a nuisance.

"It's no trouble," he insisted in his distinctive, deep voice, taking up her empty cup and disappearing back into the house. He soon returned with a fresh cup of tea and a slice of lemon, which she took appreciatively. As he sat back down on his stoop, he wondered what other differences might exist between the two personalities.

"Do you like pancakes?" He found himself asking.

Hermione felt taken aback by the apparent non sequitur. "Um, yes... they're alright, I guess... why?"

"No reason," Severus muttered, embarrassed for asking. They both sipped silently at their tea as they let the strange question pass.

"I like them best with blueberry preserves," Hermione was compelled to say, trying to alleviate the awkwardness of the moment. "My grandmother used to make them and jar them. She'd send jars to us every year from her home in Quebec; my dad would hoard them. He had a whole shelf full of the stuff. They've dwindled since she passed, but there were still a few jars left last time I was home."

Severus nodded, not looking at all interested. Hermione wondered why he'd even bothered asking... so much for small talk.

Realizing she'd been sidetracked by the news of Sirius' death, she tried to get back into her earlier mindset. She still had plenty of questions that she needed Snape to answer.

"What did Voldemort do to me?"

Severus reeled back when he heard her speak Voldemort's name.

"Don't use that name!" he hissed, spilling his tea as he reflexively moved to cover his arm.

Hermione's eyes widened, recognizing for the first time what had somehow managed to evade her notice: he wore the Dark Mark!

"Oh my God, you're a Death Eater!" she gasped, jumping up and backing away as the knowledge that she'd been drinking tea and discussing blueberry preserves with a Death Eater tried to reconcile itself with her higher reasoning. "...how...?"

"It's more complicated than that," he snapped back at her, frustrated that he hadn't thought to conceal the mark from her. "I assure you that you're perfectly safe here, so long as you don't use that name in my presence again!"

"But... but..." she stammered, still unable to come to terms with the fact that her favorite teacher was a servant of the Dark Lord. But then why did Dumbledore trust him? He was an Order member after all, wasn't he?

"Are you a spy?" She asked, aware of her tactlessness but too stunned to be concerned.

Severus paused, still paranoid about maintaining his cover despite the fact that Hermione—some part of her, at least—already knew his secret.

"As I said, it's complicated, but my true allegiance is to Dumbledore." When she only looked at him searchingly, he continued, "I realize you have no reason to trust me, given what little information you have, but it is important that I have your trust; you are here because it's safe, and because I want to help you reclaim your stolen memories, and restore your magic."

That last point hit Hermione hard, as she hadn't realized her magic had been compromised as well. She'd assumed he'd taken her wand for safe keeping.

"What's wrong with my magic?" she asked in a small voice, "What did he do to me?"

"It wasn't..." Severus had a difficult time answering her second question. "The Dark Lord didn't do this to you; not directly, at least. Though he did order it..." he was about to say that it had been Voldemort's plan, but he knew all too well that that wasn't the case.

Sensing his distress, Hermione felt the need to step in.

"What are you trying to tell me, Professor?" she asked in a gentle voice.

Severus met her eyes, and the emotion contained there caused her breath to hitch. Whatever had happened, clearly he was upset about it.

"Shall we start at the beginning?" She offered, taking a slight step toward him.

"I suppose we might as well," he conceded, sounding pathetically tired.

"What happened after I was taken by Dolohov?" she asked, carefully retaking her seat opposite him on the porch. She failed to notice how easily she accepted his bid for her trust, automatically gravitating back toward him.

"You were imprisoned. When Malfoy got word of it, he jumped at the opportunity to take credit for your capture. His failure to retrieve the prophecy didn't go over well, to say the least."

Hermione relaxed a little at hearing this, having forgotten about the prophecy.

"He was in a foul temper, and he took it out on you before he brought you before the Dark Lord. I was able to heal most of your injuries later, but when I first saw you, you were in bad condition. I hadn't known you'd been captured, or I might've been able to intervene on your behalf..."

Hermione could see he was sincere, so she nodded her thanks, for whatever it was worth.

"The Dark Lord intended to kill you in order to hurt Potter, but I offered... an alternative."

When he seemed unable to go on, Hermione tensed.

"You must know that the circumstances were dire, and I was completely unprepared to see you there. I had to come up with something— anything— very quickly, or else stand by and watch as you were executed. It wouldn't have been quick, either... the Dark Lord was determined to see to it that—" he broke off then, aware of the gruesomeness he was about to convey, and noticing the fear he'd provoked in her.

"I apologize, but these facts aren't at all pretty. There's no easy way to say any of this, so I'm trying to put it simply..."

"It's alright," she croaked, ashamed at the unexpected harshness of her voice. "Please go on," she managed in a smoother tone.

"He wanted to see that you suffered terribly. I wasn't about to stand by and allow you to be killed. So I came up with the only solution that occurred to me, which I never even meant to allow to pass. I'd hoped to stall long enough to alert the Order and arrange for you to be safely returned, and had managed to put together a quick plan that would've ensured just that, but... it went wrong. It went horribly wrong."

His voice had cracked on his last words, prompting a surge of sympathy from the confused girl across from him. She wanted to reach out to him, but felt frozen in place. What had gone so wrong that he'd be this remorseful? she wondered; she was, after all, alive... he must've done something right...

"But I'm here now," she said simply, "and perfectly safe, as far as I can tell..."

Severus just hung his head, avoiding her worried gaze.

"I suggested that you be given over to the underground slave trade, Miss Granger," he continued in a gravelly voice, "to have your memories wiped as you were made to endure unspeakable treatment from some of the most despicable criminals known to wizardkind. I never intended for this to actually happen, you must understand— I thought I could get you away in time..."

Hermione's head was aching terribly at this revelation, and nausea had gripped her stomach. Still, she tried to override her discomfort to attempt to understand.

"I believe you," she offered miserably, "but I don't understand; what happened to me? How did I end up here?"

"I don't know much of what happened to you after I lost you, and it wouldn't do to speculate on that account. I'm certain what you endured afterwards was... unpleasant." Severus was fully aware of the inadequacy of that adjective, but couldn't bear to be any more descriptive at the moment.

"Suffice it to say that I eventually managed to recover you, albeit well over a year too late. Which brings us here, now."

Though she'd suspected that she had lost a large portion of time, given the changes she'd discovered in the bathroom, this revelation still hit her like a bludger to the chest.

"An entire year?" She whispered, her head pounding with the ramifications.

"That would explain..." she trailed away, unconsciously glancing over her body as she tried to make sense of it all.

"But that means I missed an entire year of school..." she muttered absently, looking completely derelict.

"...How am I going to pass my N.E.W.T.s...?"

Severus looked up at her incomprehensively, flabbergasted that this should be her greatest concern at the moment.

"Miss Granger... I assure you that every consideration will be granted to you, should you wish to continue your academic career once you're returned—"

"Should I wish to?" She retorted, not disguising her affront, "Of course I'll want to go back to school, why wouldn't I?" She demanded.

"I meant no offense," Severus replied, simultaneously amused by her indignation and saddened by the possibility that her feelings might change once she knew the full story. "My point is, help will always be given to you at Hogwarts. I'm confident that the rest of the staff share this view, and will be more than willing to assist you. You have nothing to fear in that regard."

"But my magic..." she continued, realizing there was one regard she'd overlooked. "If I've lost my magic, there would be no point..."

"I don't believe your magic has been lost; not completely at least," Severus assured her, "I think it's only been relegated to a part of you that we've yet to unlock."

"But I don't feel any different," she protested, "—where's my wand? Are you sure my magic has been compromised?"

In fact, Severus was not sure; he realized that only Nina had been unable to perform magic— perhaps Hermione would have no trouble...

"You'll need a new wand, I'm afraid; but if you'll limit yourself to a simple spell, you may use my own to test your abilities."

To Hermione's great astonishment, Snape produced his wand and held it out to her freely. She never would've expected him to do so lightly.

"Thank you, sir," she said in a hushed voice, carefully taking the proffered wand from him and settling it in her grip. It felt unique; it fit well in her palm, if not surprisingly heavy, and she could immediately feel the swell of powerful magic emanating from its core. It pulsed over her almost soothingly, creeping up her arm and spreading over her chest as it seemed to seek out her heart, attuning itself to the pulsating rhythm it found there.

"I can feel it," she whispered, "it's almost as if it wants to know me..."

Severus raised an eyebrow, surprised that she could feel it at all. "Where can you feel it, Miss Granger?" He asked carefully.

"I... I think I can feel it in my heart, sir," she answered quietly.

He was stunned by her reply; indeed, that was how his own magic responded to his wand. It was grounded in the heart, connected to his own life force through a distinct process of perfect harmonization with his instrument. Though this was the case for most wizards in one way or another, that she should feel it herself— in her own heart, no less— was no small thing. Many wizards reported a generalized harmonization; many others reported a particular synchronization with specific locations of the body, most often the head; sometimes the hara, or stomach, for those ruled by instinct; in many cases the power center was located in the groin... but she felt his wand magic responding to her own heart...

"Try performing a spell, Miss Granger," he prompted, curious to see what might happen.

Eager to test it, she unthinkingly pointed at a nearby bush and invoked "Incendio!"

Her eyes went wide as the bush burst into flames, lighting up like an overdone Christmas tree and hissing angrily as thick black smoke curled up and rose straight into the sky. Severus gaped at the sight for a moment before snatching the wand from her hand and casting a strong Aguamenti counter-charm to dampen the flames. When the fire had been extinguished, they both stared wordlessly at the charred, muddy mess that remained.

"Well, that answers that question," Hermione said nervously.

"Indeed," Severus replied, too astonished to be irritated with her for performing such a careless spell in a dry area. If he'd been surprised that she'd been able to use magic now, he felt more so that she'd been able to do it with such ease while using his wand.

"Why did you think my magic had been compromised?" She asked.

"Because it is," he answered absently, still staring at the charred remains of the bush. "Part of you is missing it."

She wondered at that for a moment. "Part of me?" she questioned, "What 'part' are you talking about?"

Severus turned to her then, looking her over as if imagining her another way. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, wondering what he was seeing with such distant eyes. Those eyes then landed on hers, and looked into them deeply as he spoke directly to her.

"There's still plenty you don't know about," he told her solemnly.

"Like what?" She asked softly, afraid of the intensity he was radiating.

She watched him stiffen, his lips tight and looking as if he wanted to tell her something, but wasn't sure how to.

"You suffered some... complications... during your fugue. These have left you in a precarious situation that I'm trying to help resolve. I'm still uncertain as to what caused the situation, as well as to the extent of the damage; there are possibly several factors involved. I've been researching the matter as much as I could in the short time I've had to look into it, but I haven't made any decent headway— the available knowledge of these matters is negligible in the Wizarding World, and I don't have convenient access to any Muggle source material... though even if I did, I'm not entirely sure where I'd have to begin..." Realizing that he was practically rambling now, he trailed off to seek out the shade of the porch that he'd been out of for too long.

"What 'situation,' — what are you trying to tell me?" She demanded as he turned away from her. Though she didn't mean to be so short with him, her headache was wearing on her patience.

Severus sighed heavily as he took his seat in the cool doorway. He belatedly noticed his spilled tea on the floor, and frowned at it as he thought about how to tell her what she wanted to know.

"I believe something went wrong with your obliviation; I couldn't say yet what that might've been, but suffice it to say that there have been some psychological ramifications that have rendered you... disjointed."

"Disjointed? Disjointed how?"

"Miss Granger... sometimes you are here, and sometimes you are somewhere else. When you are here, you don't remember what happened when you weren't. When you are somewhere else, someone else takes over... that is, you become.. someone else."

It took her a moment to hear what he was saying over the pounding in her head. When she finally responded, it was in a small, flat voice. "I become someone else."

He nodded, looking wary and a little bit guilty.

"Who do I become?" She asked in her diminished voice.

Severus looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Someone you were forced to become when you were taken and obliterated; possibly someone programmed with false memories. She doesn't know who you are, apart from what I've told her, and from what she's seen in the memories I've shown her."

"She?" It was strange to hear him talking about her as if she was a separate person.

"Yes, well, you, but you as her..."

"This sounds rather complicated."

"Indeed."

"And 'she' doesn't know she's me?"

"I've tried to tell her, but I'm not sure how well she understands."

"But 'she' is just me, right— but 'me' when I don't remember who I am?"

"It's more complicated than that..."

"How?"

"She... isn't you, really... she's... different."

"Different, how?"

Severus paused then before answering, realizing that there were many ways he could word it that might not go over well.

"She calls herself 'Nina,' for one thing..."

"Nina..." Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "Jane used to call me that..."

"Who?"

"My childhood friend, Jane; she was a Muggle girl I used to know— since we were toddlers, practically— and she never could pronounce my name correctly... she used to say 'Herma-nina' instead, and then that got shortened to just 'Nina'... I haven't thought about her in ages."

Severus wondered at that; it might've just been a coincidence, but there was a chance that Nina had chosen the name unconsciously from one of those early memories.

"But that's understandable," Hermione argued, "—if it's just me when I'm amnesic, it would make sense that I'd call myself something that I identify with my childhood, right? It just sounds like I'm slipping in and out of amnesia, Professor."

"There's more to it than that," he said shortly, wishing she didn't require these details. "'Nina' is not like you. She acts differently, talks differently... dresses differently," he mentioned, looking over her strange outfit and wondering how she wasn't getting overheated standing around with that robe pulled over her dress. "She even takes her tea differently," he added.

Hermione absorbed this information, astounded by the implications. How could she be two people at once? Where did this other personality come from?

"She's been shaped by experiences you can't remember," he continued, a note of sadness coloring his voice. "She's from another kind of world; a darker, less friendly world. She hasn't... that is, you haven't," he corrected miserably, "had an easy time during the last year. She's accepted it all as a given, not realizing that she came from somewhere better, and had people looking for her who cared about her and wanted to take her away from all of that. It's made her... different."

Snape looked so remorseful that she didn't want to make him explain further, though she was still aching to know everything about this alter ego.

"It's alright, Professor— you don't have to feel guilty about what happened; I'm sure you did all you could... I'm just glad to be alive, and wouldn't be if it weren't for you..."

Severus looked at her as if he didn't understand a word of what she'd said to him.

"Some things are unforgivable, Miss Granger. You've suffered depravities that no one should ever have to endure, especially one so..." Hermione looked wistful as he spoke to her in that forlorn way of his, her eyes searching his as he grimaced against an unknown torment. "...What was done to you should never have been done, and I was the one who allowed you to be placed in that position. You don't even know what it is you so easily forgive."

Hermione realized her weak assurances were wasted on him; he clearly felt responsible for whatever it was that she didn't know. And from the tone of his voice, she wasn't sure that she wanted to.

.

A/N: More to follow soon— just trying to break this up a little.

Also— thanks to the reviewer who suggested posting this story to another site, in case it gets removed: I'll be doing that to be safe, so stay tuned for that info. — I welcome suggestions as to which alternate fanfic sites to check out (I prefer the aesthetic of this site: if you know of any that's as easy on the eyes / as easy to use, let me know!)