Characters are property of J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter Universe. Thankfully, she allows me to borrow them for a bit of fun.

Chapter 24

Options

"Potter! Thank goodness you are alright," Minerva gasped as she took Harry's face in her hands as if examining him to make sure it was really him. "I was worried sick when I heard what happened."

"Yes, that's all well and good," Severus interrupted. "Why on earth do you want to go to Hogwarts? Are you trying to get yourself killed yet again?"

"We need to get the Diadem of Ravenclaw and destroy it."

Severus scoffed. "The Diadem of Ravenclaw, if it ever existed, has been lost for years, Potter. Surely, you know that. What on earth makes you think it is at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I know that, Professor. But when Ron and I went to see Penelope and she showed us a picture of the Diadem, I realized that I had seen it before. Last year when I hid your old Potions textbook in the Room of Requirement, I used a bust of some old wizard to mark the cupboard where I hid it. I put a wig and a tiara on the bust so I could find it again. It was the same tiara that was on Rowena Ravenclaw's Chocolate Frog Card. The diadem is at Hogwarts. I'm positive."

"Even if you are correct," Snape interjected, "going to Hogwarts would be a suicide mission. Most of the staff is loyal to the Dark Lord. If spotted, we would be killed or turned over to the Dark Lord immediately. Going to Hogwarts would be folly, Potter, trust me when I say that."

"We don't have a choice, Professor Snape," Harry replied, becoming indignant. "If we're going to kill Voldemort, we have to destroy the diadem. I know it's risky, but there's no other option." After a moment of awkward silence, Harry turned to Hermione. "What's your opinion, Hermione?"

A look of concern crossed Hermione's face. She knew that she was treading troublesome waters here and did not want to upset Harry or Severus. She tried to be as delicate as possible. "Well, I think Professor Snape has a point, Harry. We can't rush into Hogwarts without formulating a plan. We need a secure way in and a good exit strategy. We'll have to go eventually, but we need to take our time and figure things out first."

Minerva focused her attention on Harry's face and could tell immediately that the boy was becoming incensed. In an effort to diffuse the situation, she spoke up. "Perhaps a compromise can be reached."

Severus shot his former colleague a suspicious look. "What sort of compromise?"

"It occurs to me," Minerva began, "that I can be of some help after all. It's true that Voldemort's followers have quite a presence at Hogwarts, but I am still a professor and that comes with certain privileges. I'll go back to Hogwarts and begin preparing you a port of entry. When everything is ready, I will contact you and you will come then." She shot a sharp look at Harry before continuing. "But not a moment before I say so. Understood?"

"Understood, professor," Harry replied.

Minerva was thankful to have eased the tension but she was certain the reprieve was temporary as Harry did very little to disguise his annoyance. She then turned to Severus. "And what say you, Severus? Do you find this arrangement agreeable?"

Severus pondered her question for several seconds before responding. "I appreciate your desire to help, Minerva. Really, I do. But this plan would place you in danger, I fear. What if Lucius or one of the other Death Eaters on staff caught you sneaking about?"

"Severus," Minerva began with an expression of sobering resolve, "in a war where so many have died and so many more have put themselves at risk of dying, why should my lot be any different? I am a soldier in this war the same as you. These children are called upon to put their lives on the line before they even begin living. I'm prepared to die for this cause if that's what is required."

Severus understood then that nothing he could say would deter Minerva from her plan and he gave a solemn nod of acquiescence.

In the corner of the room, Harry scratched something on a sheet of parchment before handing it to Minerva. "Take this," he said, "and give it to Kreacher when you get back to school. It's a note telling him to assist you in any way you need. I'm sure Dobby will be willing to help as well."

"Very well then," Minerva said. "I need to be getting back before my absence is noticed."

"Wait," Ron spoke up for the first time since the conversation began. "Professor? How is Ginny?"

"She is as well as can be expected, Mister Weasley. I will make sure to tell her that you send your regards." She shot a look in Harry's direction. "That you all send your regards."

"Here, professor, take this." Hermione extended a gold coin to Minerva, which the elder witch accepted it with a look of confusion on her face. "I have one just like it. We've been using them to communicate. We won't be able to stay in one place, so if you need to meet with us or when you're ready for us to Hogwarts, you can use these to give us the message."

"Very clever, Miss Granger," Minerva said. "I'll keep you updated as much as possible. Goodbye." Minerva nodded once more and disappeared with a crack.

"In the mean time," Hermione began once McGonagall had gone, "we need to focus on destroying the other horcruxes."

"Great plan if we knew where any of the bloody things were," Ron observed.

"Well, Mister Weasley, you are in luck. I happen to know that one of the horcruxes is at the Riddle House."

"The one the Dark Lord kept with him," Hermione added. "It's the cup Lestrange told me about that night at the pub, isn't it?"

Severus nodded. "It was in the room he brought us to for the interrogation. It sat atop a bookshelf along the back wall."

Ron stepped forward only to plop down on the threadbare sofa, sending dust particles flying into the air around him. "It should be destroyed then. That was one of the worst fires I have ever seen."

Severus's cast a withering glance in the redhead's direction. "As violent as it was, I highly doubt the fire destroyed it."

"Professor Snape's right, Ron," Harry added, sounding as though he was devising a plan that very moment. "You remember the time we had trying to kill that stupid locket. We tried everything, even going as far as trying to burn it."

Ron looked unconvinced as he stretched his legs out in front of him. "Even if the fire didn't kill it, who's to say You-Know-Who didn't go back for it before he ran off?"

"He's got a point, Professor," Hermione said, deflated. "The way Lestrange talked about the cup, the Dark Lord kept it by his side all the time. I'm sure he knows what we're up to by now, I can imagine his paranoia has turned into something short of an obsession with keeping the bits of his soul safe."

"There's only one way to find out," Harry said matter-of-factly. "We've got to go back."

"Are you barking mad?" Ron snapped. "We can't go back there, not this soon anyway!"

Severus tried to keep a bland expression on his face as he looked to Harry Potter, seeing shock and then ruffled annoyance. It seemed as though Ronald Weasley had had enough of running head first into a situation without fully thinking the implications through. Severus had to admit it was rather refreshing to see the redhead put the Boy Who Lived in his place for once. Whether or not it would stifle his stubborn nature remained to be seen.

"Well, you can stay here, Ron—"

"And so are you, Harry Potter," Hermione interrupted. "We need a plan—"

Harry spun around to face Hermione, only to find a look of determination on her face. He could tell she was daring him to say otherwise, but he certainly didn't care. They didn't have time for that. "You and your bloody plans, Hermione! When will you realize that nothing we ever plan works? Voldemort's hold grows stronger each day we sit and do nothing!"

"Be that as it may, Ron is right and I'm sure Professor Snape agrees. None of us are in any shape to go back there tonight. If we were to go back, we could very well walk straight into a trap." Hermione reached over to Harry, putting her hands on his shoulders in an effort to calm him. "What good would any of us be then?"

"I've got to finish him, Hermione," Harry said, his anger and impatience evaporating slightly. "I've got to end this."

"I know you do, and you will, I have no doubt," Hermione answered swiftly, realizing she had somehow managed to gain the upper hand. "But, for right now, we need to stop and think."

"Miss Granger is correct," Snape said, looking directly at Harry. "We needn't rush into anything, especially with you in your depleted state. We should wait here until you recuperate."

"I don't need to recuperate. I'm fine," Harry replied, seething.

"Oh really," Snape goaded. "Let's see then."

"Do you want me to run laps around the room or would you prefer I climb to the roof?"

"As entertaining either would be I'm afraid they're not necessary, Potter," Severus replied coolly. "I was not referring to your physical state, but rather the condition of your magic."

"My magic is fine; you needn't trouble yourself over that."

"Actually, mate, your magic is probably a mess," Ron said. "You know magic is tied directly to a wizard's soul. The last time I saw yours, it looked pretty green."

Harry made an agitated face, turning to glare at his friend. "Thanks, Ron, for helping me out. I appreciate it."

"I think a Patronus Charm should do the trick," Severus added. "Casting a corporeal Patronus takes a fair amount of power. If you could do that with considerable ease, as I've been told you can, I should think you would have little difficulty doing anything else."

Harry looked to Hermione, as though she would save him from the two wizards in the room. When she smiled ruefully and handed his wand to him, however, Harry realized in that instance that he was outnumbered. Harry regarded his wand for a moment, before plucking it from her hand.

Hermione watched as he wiped the remnants of dust from its surface. Harry was wasting time, though for what reason she couldn't understand. "Honestly, Harry, just do it. Worst case scenario is that it doesn't work."

"Or he blows himself sky high," said Severus as he watched on with hidden satisfaction. The look Hermione shot in his direction, however, told him to keep such comments to himself—no matter how amusing he found them to be.

"Do you want us to leave the room?" Ron asked.

"Could you shut up, please? I'm trying to concentrate." Harry tightened his grip and pointed his wand down the hallway. Mustering as much focus as he could, he closed his eyes and hoped for the best. "Expecto Patronum!" Silver light shot from the end of Harry's wand, but did not take its usual form of a stag. Instead, the light filled the room, momentarily blinding everyone standing in it. When the light dissipated, Harry was lying prone on the floor.

Ron made his way over to his friend and extended a hand to help him up. "Sorry, mate."

Harry ignored Ron's outstretched hand and made his way to his feet. "Well, I hope you're all happy. Feel free to plan without me, I'm going to bed." Without another word, Harry turned and exited toward the bedroom he had previously been in.

"Awfully early for bed isn't it," Ron offered once Harry was out of earshot.

"In addition to his pride being injured, I'm sure even attempting to cast a spell caused a great deal of fatigue in his weakened state," Snape explained. "Besides, we'll get more planning accomplished without him. He is in no shape to think rationally."

The rest of the night progressed calmly. Severus, Hermione, and Ron discussed their plans over a small dinner. At the end of a few hours of discussion, they had worked out a basic plan. They would wait until Harry was well, which Severus suggested should take a few days. After he was well, they would return to the Riddle House and stake it out to make sure none of the Dark Lord's followers were there. When they were certain the coast was clear, they would search for the cup of Helga Hufflepuff and set about destroying it. Once they were satisfied with their plan, the three of them exchanged good nights and Hermione and Ron withdrew to their respective rooms.

Severus, on the other hand, could not find sleep immediately so he poured himself a drink, plucked a book from the bookshelf and lounged on the sofa. He didn't know if it was the Firewhisky or if he had simply been more tired than he initially realized, but Severus soon found it impossible to keep his increasingly heavy eyelids open. He sat his book and glass down on the table and allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

He could hear a muffled sound somewhere off in the distance. It sounded eerily similar to that of a voice, but the space between him and the sound made it impossible to tell. Severus closed his eyes, focusing on making out the noise.

"Severus!"

Hermione's voice was loud and panicked, and her footfalls echoed off some distance in the darkness behind him. She was running to him. Severus's eyes flew open, and he tried to move toward her pleas for help. He couldn't. He found himself rooted to the ground; it was as though his feet had turned to stone. Severus's hands went immediately to the pockets inside his robes in search of his wand.

"Looking for this?" A cold, unforgiving voice asked from the shadows.

Severus craned his neck, and much to his horror, spotted Lord Voldemort holding his wand in his skeletal-looking hands. The Dark Lord's slender fingers traced over the basket weave detail carved into the hilt for a brief moment before making their ways to each end.

"Wands have always been of great interest to me. What say you, Severus? Does wand lore strike your fancy?"

Severus remained silent as Hermione's voice bounced all around him. She was getting closer as was the Dark Lord.

"You can tell much about a man by the wand he carries. Yours, for instance, is seemingly unpliable, obstinate even." Voldemort demonstrated his theory by carefully attempting to bend the birch wood. It didn't budge. "It is unyielding—just as I once believed you to be."

A young woman's scream erupted once more from the darkness, this time laced with a sob. "Severus, please!"

Severus tried with all of his strength to move his feet, but it was to no avail. He was still planted firmly in place.

"You see," Voldemort said as he circled the struggling wizard, "over time, as the wood ages, it becomes weak as it is weathered by all that is around it, and the core wanes from overuse. No different than the man who carries it, really. And just like a wand, with just the right amount of pressure, a man will shatter to pieces." The Dark Lord brought Snape's wand over his knee, and with a loud snapping noise, it splintered in his hands.

Severus watched with paralyzing horror as Hermione was dragged from the darkness by two hooded figures. "You were supposed to protect me! You promised, Severus," she sobbed. "You promised!"

"You've been making promises you can't keep, it seems." Voldemort said, his voice decidedly different to show his amusement. "Some things never change, and it appears your desire for those unworthy is one of them."

"If you lay a hand on her—" Severus's voice was cut off by the Dark Lord's hand at his throat.

The Dark Lord's grip around Snape's neck tightened with each word. "You'll do what, Severus?"

"I'll fucking finish you," Snape managed to choke out, his breath becoming ragged and labored.

"Just as you vowed to do so long ago?" Voldemort said with a laugh. "How easily you forget the day I crushed your first great love to dust. Where was Lily Potter's vengeance? You are a weak man full of even weaker, empty words."

Voldemort dropped his hand from Snape's neck and Severus released a great. shuddering breath. The Dark Lord turned toward the cloaked figures holding the young witch captive. "Let us see just how much pressure it takes to break a pathetic man. Bring her."

Severus couldn't decide which was louder; Hermione's thrashing to escape or his own voice willing them to stop. "Your Mudblood has yet to know pain, Severus, but I can assure you she will get her fill of it. What fun we shall have this night; you will die with her screams in your ears and your own on your tongue."

The Dark Lord, having grown tired of Hermione's cries, delivered a swift backhand once she was in his range. Hermione's head lolled forward as though she were a rag doll, eliciting jeers from the unknown figures holding her upright. "Such a waste of talent," Voldemort spat. "To be gifted with magic, but have blood that flows as murky as the Thames. There is no greater injustice in this world—except that she still breathes."

The Dark Lord lifted Hermione's head by her hair, but it was not her face Severus saw. Instead, her youthful features took on that of his childhood friend and first love. He fought the desire to look away as Lily's green eyes bore into his. Severus was sure that shade of green that would forever haunt his dreams.

"You are a coward," Lily whispered. "You've always been a coward."

Voldemort turned to Severus, noticing the ghastly pallor of his skin. He looked as though he would be sick at any moment. "Ah, the sting of long lost love. Even those you strive to protect see you for what you are."

"This is not real! She is not here! "

Voldemort motioned for the two hooded individuals to release their hold. The witch fell to the ground on her knees, her gaze turned toward the floor. "Let us see how real you think this is," the Dark wizard said with bitter satisfaction as he turned his wand on the woman at his feet.

The scream that came from the thrashing witch was unlike anything Severus had ever heard. It seemed to pierce through every nerve he possessed, sending shocks of unbridled terror coursing through his veins. When the blood started to trickle from the corners of her mouth, he turned his head, unable to take the sight any longer.

"Of course you look away!" Voldemort taunted. "You look away because you can't bear the sight of her. Your supposed great love and you can't spare her even a look in her last moments. Are you ashamed of your cowardice, Severus? It truly knows no bounds."

The grief he held in his heart suddenly turned to a violent rage. Severus found himself struggling to move once more, and this time, his feet were finally making ground.

The movement did not go unnoticed by the Dark Lord. He reached down and grabbed the battered witch from the floor, and when Severus caught sight of her face, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Looking back at him was not Lily Evans, but Hermione Granger, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. The Dark Lord held his wand to her throat. "Could you stand her dirty blood on your hands—to know that your insolence has led to her fleeting soul?"

"Take me instead."

The Dark Lord jerked back on Hermione's hair, exposing her neck further. "Finally, you've decided to grow a backbone. But, you see, I'm afraid it is late in coming."

"What good is she to you?" Severus asked, his tone threatening.

"I must ask you the same thing, Severus. What good is a Muggle-born witch to you?"

The Dark Lord studied the look on Severus's face, before the wand he held was transfigured into a gleaming wicked dagger. "How quaint. You hoped to right twenty years of wrongs using this Mudblood. Her pitiful life won't replace the Potter woman, nor will it clean your slate." Voldemort raised the dagger to Hermione's throat, carefully allowing the pristine blade to scrape the delicate flesh of her neck.

Severus watched as tiny droplets formed at the base of the knife and ran down onto her shirt. "You can seek your revenge through me, please."

The knife faltered at Hermione's throat as a vile smile paid a visit to the Voldemort's lips. "You've lowered yourself to pleading?"

"If that is what it takes." Severus's face was pale as he dropped to the floor in a half-kneeling position before his former master. "I beg you. Spare her."

The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side, as though he was truly giving such a proposal thought. "I think not." With that, the Dark Lord made a violent sweeping motion with his wrist, and Hermione Granger's blood splattered to the ground.

Severus stood stock still as the sight before him seemed to happen in slow motion. Hermione's eyes caught his as she fell to her knees, and the disappointment, the anger, and the betrayal that shone from her glossed eyes was his undoing. He staggered forward, forgetting the Dark Lord's look of satisfaction, sweeping her body in his arms before she could collapse flat on her face.

Severus's hands went to her neck to stifle the bleeding only to realize that she was growing cold. "No, no, NO!"

Severus jumped with a start to find he was not in some desolate, unforgiving place but rather sitting upright in the musty sofa that sat in his living room.

It had all been a bloody dream.

"Fuck," Severus mumbled into his palms as he hunched over with his head in his hands. Wave over wave of nausea rolled over him as his fingers pressed into his eyes, trying to dislodge the image of Hermione bleeding out in his arms from his mind. While his feelings toward the girl were as clear as mud, Severus knew one thing above all the rest, and that was the simple fact that he could not deny that Hermione Granger had managed to scale a wall no one else had been able to breech in nearly twenty years. He tried to act unfazed as he slowly drew himself back upright, his head resting on the back of the chair and his gaze upturned.

No more sleep would come to him tonight, Severus was sure of it. Truthfully, if more dreams of that nature threatened to haunt his sleep, he would never close his eyes again. Even if it wasn't the same nightmare, there would always be another waiting in its place equally terrifying and horrible. Dumbledore, when he was still alive, used to tell Severus his nightmares were of his own doing. 'When you deny or hide from what you feel, Severus," the old man used to say, 'you unwittingly open yourself up to feeling whatever may be troubling you, but only one hundred times worse and over and over again.'

"You've invited the madness in," Severus scolded himself, finally understanding what the old fool was talking about. He realized he had one of two options. The first, of course, was to allow her in. That option was out of the question considering they were both in the middle of a war that seemed to go on without end. Of course, there was also the fact that she was twenty years his junior and a former pupil. No, that choice was out of the question. The second choice, which seemed to be the most probable route to take, was to ignore whatever was going on between them, and deal with the consequences that arose from pretending something wasn't there. He would take the road that he had traveled many times before. Severus would simply deal with this 'attraction' the only way he knew how, nightmares and inner turmoil be damned.

Knowing he would be unable to find sleep again, Severus made his way into the dark kitchen to prepare a fresh pot of tea. He retrieved his mother's old kettle from the cabinet, filling it with water before he sat it on the cooker. As he turned to retrieve the tea from a tin in the cupboard, his elbow grazed an empty bowl that was sitting on the counter, sending it tumbling to the floor where it broke into dozens of pieces. Frustrated, Severus sat the tea tin he held down on the counter with a clang and went to retrieve his wand from the table in the sitting room to clean up the mess. When he entered the sitting room, however, he was surprised to see Hermione standing at the bottom of the stairs, undoubtedly woken by the noise.

"I thought I heard something," Hermione said as she studied Snape through the darkness.

Severus wondered for a moment what she was looking at, until he remembered he no longer wore the thick wool robes she was so accustomed to. Instead, he stood in a plain white tee shirt, a pair of worn sleep trousers and his sock feet. "That was just me making tea," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as though he were indecent. "No cause for alarm, I can assure you."

"Tea sounds lovely, actually." Hermione smiled before adding, "It's soothing, and I could use it. I'm worn out." Hermione strode past him toward the kitchen.

"That's understandable," Severus said as he followed behind her. For some reason, the thought of her in any type of distress rankled him. "You have been through a lot—"

"We all have," she said as she down in the creaking, wooden chair, leaving the business of tea making to him. "Speaking of which, how are you? I don't think anyone has asked you."

As he made tea, Severus regarded Hermione's reflection in the glass of the overhead cupboards. She wasn't looking at him, instead choosing to fiddle with the end of an unused paper napkin that lay on the table. Something was on her mind; otherwise she wouldn't have resorted to small talk. "I'm well enough," he said as he busied himself with gathering teacups. "And I have been much worse."

Hermione laughed uneasily. "I know. I thought they were going to kill you back there."

Severus ambled over to the table, taking the seat adjacent to Hermione. She finally looked up at him when she heard the weak chair whine under his weight. "It will take a lot more than the Cruciatus Curse to finish me off." Severus felt something similar to a flicker of happiness lurch deep within his gut as he watched the small smile on her face widen to a fully-fledged grin. He thought of the look on her face he had just witnessed in his dreams, and refused to allow such a grotesque expression to mar his image of her.

"So, is this your house?"

The sudden question jerked him from his own mind, and Severus nodded in response. "It belonged to my parents," he replied, looking about the room with a hint of disdain. "It isn't much, but it is home regardless."

"It looks like you never stay here."

Severus frowned, and Hermione wondered for a moment if she had offended him in some way. "Like I said, it isn't much, the neighborhood looks like something out of a Dickens novel, and I find it unpleasant to be here."

Hermione said nothing in response, sensing the subject sat rather sourly with Severus. She brought her feet up in the chair, resting her chin on her knees and stared out into the dimly lit kitchen. "Your mother's name, was it Elieen?"

Severus tried to maintain indifference, but the question had caught him completely off guard. "How do you know that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I looked her up while we were still at Hogwarts—sixth year. She was a Prince wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was," said Severus, clearing his throat.

"I thought so. That's how I eventually traced that Potions book of Harry's back to you; 'The Half-blood Prince.'"

"I suspected he had my old copy. He never showed that much promise during my courses," Severus answered, unsure of where she was headed with her current line of questioning. "Why do you ask?"

Hermione scratched her neck, as though she was considering the best way to broach the subject. "I was just curious. You never mention your family, ever."

"That's because I don't have any," he said flatly as the tea kettle began to sing in protest. He excused himself from the table, secretly thankful that Hermione had been interrupted. He had not opened up to anyone in quite some time, and it left him feeling rather exposed. Severus took his time, hoping Hermione would lose interest in his parentage. After all, it wasn't something he liked to think about let alone discuss.

"I don't mean to intrude," she explained once he had returned to the table. "I was just wondering what you were going to do once this is all over."

"I've never given it much thought, actually," Severus said as he summoned a jar of honey from the pantry and a spoon from the drawer. "I don't expect to see the end of it." Severus's placid expression was met with one of disbelief.

"What? Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it doesn't seem very likely, nor does the current situation swing fate in my favour." Severus started to place a spoonful of honey in the bottom of his empty cup, when her hand took hold of his wrist. Severus felt a lump form in his throat as her grip increased.

"Then you change it so that it does," Hermione said crossly. "You don't let them win. You can't let them win."

Severus stared at the tarnished spoon in his hand as he spoke. "If only it were that easy, Hermione."

"It is that easy," she almost shrieked. "Look at it this way, wouldn't you want me to fight until I couldn't anymore or would you rather I just let them win?"

Severus would never understand how she managed to get inside his head. Perhaps it was her Gryffindor tenacity, thought he couldn't help but fear he was simply that translucent. Of course I would want you to fight, he thought. "You've got something to fight for."

"And you don't?"

It suddenly dawned on him that he had spoken aloud. Severus wrenched his arm from her grasp with his jaw taunt. "Look around you, Hermione—"

"No, you look," she snapped. "When will you see that you are not alone in this, that there are decent people in this world who care for you?"

Severus pinched the tension between his eyes. It did little to quell the pounding in his head. "I wasn't aware I had a fan club."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you daft man, and open your eyes!"

"If you are referring to what I believe you are," Severus said, his voice unbelievably under control given the nausea he felt working its way through him, "you are allowing your emotions to get in the way."

He watched her silently as the color drained from her face, hating himself for lying to her. There was no other way around it. If keeping her at arm's length would keep her away from the Dark Lord, then that was simply the way it had to be.

"You kissed me," she said, her voice nothing short of a whisper. "You kissed me back!"

"I am sorry. That was a lapse of judgment on my part," he lied. "We were thrown together, and we panicked."

"Tell me it was nothing, then," Hermione demanded, her hands clutching the discolored teacup like a lifeline. "Tell me that what happened yesterday was just two people coping with death knocking on their doors."

Severus found himself appalled by how quickly he had been sucked into discussing what had happened at the Riddle House. So much for option two, he thought. "Hermione—"

"Don't, please," she whispered, sensing his apprehension of the subject. "Don't make excuses for my sake, because I wouldn't do that to you."

A horrible silence seemed to engulf them, and for once in his life, Severus could not think of a single thing to say. He sat his teacup down on the table and leaned as far back in his chair as he could manage. He felt himself wanting to slip back inside the desolate hole of himself, away from the pressure of discussing something he truly didn't understand. Severus knew he would never make into the recesses of himself, because the young woman sitting across from him would never allow it.

"I absolutely hate this feeling," Hermione said finally, looking into her lap.

Severus studied her for a moment, noticing her furrowed brow and the slight reddening of her cheeks. She was either uncomfortable or nervous, though he couldn't determine which. "What feeling is that, exactly?"

"Uncertainty," Hermione answered, fidgeting with the handle of the cup. "Everything used to be so effervescent, and I used to think that I understood what I wanted, that I had everything mapped out. The truth is, I have no idea what I want or how everything is going to fall into place, and it scares me."

"War has a way of causing upheaval on a scale few can fathom," he answered.

"I wasn't talking about the war," she sighed, this time meeting his gaze. "I was talking about you."

Severus shifted in his chair as he brought a single hand to cup his chin. He thought he would burst into flames from the intensity in her eyes. She was determined despite his reservations. "I don't know what you want me to say, Hermione."

"I don't want you to say anything, Severus. I just want you to listen to what I have to say, because it's getting to the point where I won't be able keep from saying what's on my mind."

Severus remained passive and, realizing that was her cue to continue, Hermione went on. "I can't deny that I've always had the utmost respect for you. You've saved me—all of us—more times than I can count. Only somebody who thinks of others instead of himself does that, and without question. I… I admire you in more ways than one…" she trailed off, feeling as if she had just broken some untouchable taboo.

Severus's jaw clenched tightly as her words sank it. She had no idea what she was saying, he reasoned; everything that had happened had skewed her image of him. "I am not a good man, Hermione."

"How can you say that?" she asked, taken aback by the bite his words carried.

"I don't have to say anything. My actions speak volumes." Severus pushed away from the table in an effort to escape, going to stand over the sink. As he looked past the dirty window and out into the street he could feel his resolve crumble. He would not let an eighteen-year-old witch be his undoing—no matter what he felt toward her. "I am not good for you."

"You can run from me all you'd like, but that won't change the way I feel toward you."

"What you feel and what you ought to feel are two entirely different things," he said, not daring to turn around to face her.

"You don't think I realize that, Severus Snape?" she said, sounding agitated. "You don't think I've tried to tell myself that it's hopeless to think of you as something other than what you've always been to me?"

"If you've realized that great fact, why are you telling me this?"

"Because that's what people do!" she cried, standing from her spot at the table. "People tell others of their feelings, even if they know doing so could be useless!"

"Is that what you think?" Severus asked, his features stoic as he turned to face her. He hated himself for pushing her away, and he loathed the look of confusion on her face as his tone marred any hope of what she thought might happen between them. But as bad as he hated, Severus knew it was for the best. They were in the middle of a war and sacrifices had to be made, no matter how much it hurt. He wouldn't allow her to become a pawn for the Dark Lord to use, because when kept at arm's length, she was safe.

"It's clear it doesn't matter what I think, but at least you know." Hermione said finally. She was fighting the urge to cry, Severus could tell, and each time she blinked back the tears, it felt as though someone was pouring salt on his wounded conscience. He watched, feuding with himself, as she turned for the door leading out of the kitchen.

"Hermione, wait."

She turned slowly, not bothering to hide her frustration any longer. Her tone, though sad, carried a certain anger to it that would have caused a weaker man to flinch. "What?"

"You must understand," he began, haltingly at first, then with much greater ease, "I can't."

"I don't understand, Severus. What happened yesterday didn't seem as though you couldn't. But what do I know? I'm just a stupid girl with stupid feelings I ought not have ."

He crossed the distance between them and Hermione had little time to prepare herself when he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You are hardly stupid, and no feeling is stupid, though they can certainly make you feel as if you are. Believe me," Severus said, "I know."

"I thought you were incapable of feeling anything?" she said with an air of defiance in her voice. She was testing him, Severus realized, and for some reason beyond his control, she was quickly gaining the upper hand.

"Such is the rumor," Severus replied softly, feeling his resolve leave him altogether.

"Well, I don't believe that."

"You don't?"

"Not for a second." Hermione placed a hand on Severus's cheek and pulled his face toward hers. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his. For a second, he froze, mostly from shock, and then allowed instinct to take over. Severus's hands found the small of Hermione's back and pulled her close. They had kissed before, but this was different. Gone was the uncertainty of whether they would live to see each other again. There was no fear in this kiss. This kiss wasn't by accident or a fumbling, last-second decision to cling to something worth holding onto. This was hope, Severus realized, as he felt Hermione's lips graze his bottom lip. This was his second chance, and regardless of the reservations he felt, he refused to let it slip through his fingers.

Moving his hand that had found its way in her curls, Severus lifted her easily enough and sat her on the nearby table to compensate for their differing heights. Her empty teacup, jostled by their movements, fell to the floor where it shattered, unnoticed. Her fingers, though they quivered, traced over the thin fabric of the shirt he wore. When her fingers discovered the sensitive spot just below his collar-bone, a deep guttural noise erupted from his lips and, fearing she had overstepped some unknown boundary, Hermione broke their connection to get a good look at his face.

Severus's expression was unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. Hermione was heady from his proximity and thought her heart might literally explode in her chest given the way he looked at her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. Instead, with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, she grasped the fabric of his shirt and pulled him toward her, allowing him to take the space between her legs. Severus had little time to hesitate as his hands traveled up her back, inadvertently pushing the fabric of her nightshirt up as they went.

Hermione shivered when the cold air of the kitchen hit her skin, and he could feel the gooseflesh under his touch. That was the only thing that reminded him that this what he was doing was truly happening. He had never allowed himself to be consumed by such a soul-searing kiss, and he was sure things could easily get out of hand right there on his kitchen table. If he was being honest with himself, Severus wouldn't have cared in the least, but he was fairly certain the two sleeping wizards just upstairs would have had a few choice words about their activities.

Severus pulled away, for fear of being unable stop himself if they continued any further. Once free from his hold, Hermione realized her shirt was nearly off and tugged it down anxiously. Things were clearly heading in a direction she knew little to nothing about and, for an instant, she felt vastly inadequate.

Tight-chested and trembling, Hermione leaned back as she dropped her hand from his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, her eyes on his heaving chest. "I shouldn't have done that."

Severus said nothing as he focused his gaze on the wall directly behind her curly hair. He realized he was experiencing an apprehension he had never quite overcome, but to say that he was well-versed in areas of human nature such as this was laughable. He honestly had no idea how to handle himself in this situation because it was completely foreign.

"You should go to bed," said Severus, hearing a heavy rasp that had found its way to his voice. He wondered if she had heard it too, as he brushed a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear, feeling the flush of her skin under his touch. She would be the death of him, Severus was sure, but if more of that was in store, he had already decided that he would happily die.

"Goodnight," Hermione whispered as she lowered herself from the table's surface, praying she still had the facilities intact to make it upstairs in one piece. She would be lucky if sleep found her following what they had just done.

Severus watched Hermione flee from the room, remembering how her lips had just moved passionately over his, urging them apart. When he heard the bookcase snap shut, covering the entrance to the stairwell, Severus finally released the air that had been trapped in his lungs. He was angry at himself and uncomfortably aroused.

"So much for option two indeed," he said, raking a hand through his disheveled hair.

Author's Notes: Happy reading to you all, and as always, your reviews are welcomed and greatly, greatly appreciated!