A/N- If you haven't read my one-shot 'Bumble Gum and Broken Heels', go read it before you continue onward with this chapter. Things will make far more sense.

We are all of us made by war, twisted and warped by war, but we seem to forget it. A war does not end with the Armistice~ Doris Lessing

The following day was an exhausting, brutal grind for Hermione; while she didn't have any classes with Severus, her sections featured the first of three dissection exams for the biology unit, requiring her to be focused and marginally attentive lest the students slide matters entirely into anarchy.

When the last of the children finally exited the class, she sunk into the high-backed chair at her desk gratefully. Numbly, she stared out at into the disorganized chaos of the room. It would take a good two hours clean the space, even if she used magic. It's Friday, she reasoned. I don't have to get it all tidy tonight, just the dissection equipment. The rest can wait until tomorrow.

The door creaked open again, and Hermione stood, putting on her best stern professor face; she just didn't have the heart to deal with any further invasions of the swotty variety. But to her surprise, it was Minerva, and she felt her shoulders sag in relief.

"Still alive, I see," the Headmistress remarked dryly, sharp green gaze taking into the general state of the classroom.

"Just," Hermione admitted. "One more class would have done me in, however."

Minerva regarded her for a long moment, and then sighed softly. "You and I should talk." Seeing the slightly panicked expression flash across Hermione's face, she hastened to add, "I'm not here as your supervisor, Hermione, but as a friend."

Picking up a biro and twisting about in her hand, Hermione thought about the offer, and all that it implied. While she was reluctant to wash her dirty laundry in public- and she knew that Severus felt the same- she was also at a complete loss on how to proceed, or even really process what had happened the night before.

Moreover, her habit of keeping problems close to the chest had been one of the major factors in her fleeing the magical world; by time that she realized that she needed serious help, matters had built up in such a way that it seemed all-but-impossible to fix. I can't do that again. I certainly can't go through that again… it would be unfair to speak to Poppy about all this- she's Severus' friend and rock first and foremost. But Minerva has known the two us since we were both children, and if there is anyone who can give advice, it's going to be her.

"I think that would be a very good idea," she said, a measure of relief creeping in at the thought of unburdening herself. "I just need to get some of this cleaned up first…"

Minerva gave her a chiding glance. "There is another, more time-efficient option, you know."

Knowing that she meant the House-Elves, Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "I know. They just seem so terrified of me, and it's been easier to do it myself…"

"We take care of them," Minerva replied, "…regardless of whether or not you use them. And they are afraid of you precisely because you don't call upon them. If you were to use them on occasion, they would relax and not be so concerned that you are going to foist the latest in knitted fashion on them. Winky?" the Headmistress called firmly.

The diminutive creature popped into the classroom, giving both women a bow. "How can Winky be of service, Headmistress?"

"Have you had a chance to observe how Professor Granger likes to clean and order her classroom?"

"Yes, Headmistress, we have."

"Excellent. Have the elves do a thorough cleaning tonight. I also believe that Professor Granger would like to be added to the weekly cleaning roster."

Bowing to the inevitable, Hermione said, "Yes, if you could have a crew clean every Friday night, I would appreciate it."

Winky appeared exceedingly pleased by the request. "Yes, Professor Granger. We shall be very happy to do so."

"Thank you, Winky," Minerva said. "Could you also have tea and biscuits for two ready in my quarters?"

Murmuring an agreement, the elf popped out of existence again.

"Right…" Hermione began. "…I suppose I'll just get my bag, then."

They walked up to Minerva's rooms in silence, with Hermione tiredly trying to figure out what she wanted to say, and not. Recalling the older woman's expression when she'd made her offer to chat, Hermione finally just gave up. She clearly knows far more than she's been saying, and you either trust her or you don't. Stop dithering, and just get on with it…

Settling down on Minerva's comfortable sofa, Hermione accepted a cup of hot tea. "I'm not sure where to start," she finally admitted, and then gave Minerva a reproving look of her own. "So, how about we start by you telling me what you already know, and we'll go from there."

Minerva gave a short laugh. "So suspicious. One would almost think that you were a Slytherin with that sort of logic."

"As if a Slytherin would be that blunt."

"True." Minerva took a delicate sip of her tea, and then added another measure of milk. "I know that you and Severus got into some kind of fight last night- I could feel that much in the wards- and as near as I can tell, you two also share some sort of soul bond."

"And how do you figure that?" Hermione asked neutrally, wondering if Scheherazade Abu-Lughod had told the Headmistress, or if she'd worked it out on her own.

"I was the Binder during your apprenticeship ceremony. Everything you experienced, I did as well."

Hermione stared at the other woman, utterly flummoxed by the information. "You did? Is that why you were so…"

"Unnerved, post-ceremony?" Minerva interjected. "Yes, in large part. It was rather intense." She gave Hermione a rueful smile. "The reading is done as protection for both parties to insure that they are making the agreement in good faith, and if need be, the Binder can void the contract if they sense something untoward. However, in almost forty years as serving as a Binder, I've never had that… particular type of magic manifest. I'll be honest, I gave serious thought to stopping the ceremony."

"Why didn't you?"

"For one thing, I wasn't sure that could, not safely, anyway. The amount of magical energy that was generated was massive. I believe that a large part of that was the sentient magic of the Castle coming into play because Severus is still the Headmaster. Combine that with the fact that you both are quite powerful in your own right, and then the inherent magic created by bond… well, as I said, I wasn't sure I could stop it, not and blow everything to hell and back."

"Put that way..." Hermione said, still somewhat thrown by Minerva's revelation that she had known about the soul bond.

"More than that," the Headmistress continued, a faint smirk appearing, "…I thought- and still do- that you and Severus are singularly well matched. I don't mean that necessarily in the romantic sense, but in that you both are so similar in personality and certain… aspects of temperament."

Hermione fought the urge to squirm. "I'm almost afraid to ask what you mean by that."

"You two are both painfully brilliant, are quite ruthless when the situation requires it, have unfortunate tendencies towards isolation, and are more loyal than a pack of crups."

"Thanks, I think," she said, wincing a bit at the Headmistress brutal, if truthful assessment.

Minerva saluted her with teacup. "It is a complement, for the most part. While you two do posses some major differences- his temper is far worse than yours, and you have a much brighter outlook on life, for example- I did not think that they would prevent you from working together successfully." Minerva paused, and then began to look a tad uncomfortable herself. "That said, the main reason that I did not halt your Binding was that you both seemed to… want it rather badly."

Hermione looked away, recalling that first confusing flood of emotions. His bone-deep loneliness, and how safe he had made her feel...

When she spoke again, Minerva's voice was gentle. "He wanted to do right by you, and very much wanted you in his life. And you…"

"Wished the same," she stated. The older woman gave her nod, not pushing the issue.

"Does he know?" Hermione asked.

"That I know about the soul bond?" Minerva clarified. "Yes, although we've not spoken about it. Bare in mind that he's been the Binder for any number of his Slytherins over the years, so he knew that I was doing a reading as part of my duties," she added to Hermione's unspoken question. "Now, what I don't know is the type of soul bond that you share; when I spoke Scheherazade about it, she provided me with some rather interesting reading, but couldn't confirm the details without speaking to one of you." Her mouth twitched in latent frustration. "And when I tried to speak to her about it this morning, she very politely told me to bugger off."

"Yes, well, her and I had a long chat Wednesday that clarified matters considerably… and a wand oath was part of our conversation." Minerva raised an interrogative eyebrow at that statement, and Hermione went on. "I didn't know that we shared a soul bond until then."

"What? Surely you and Severus… "

"We spoke about it the day of, and he said that he didn't have any idea what happened. And after… well, he said only that he had no desire to change things, and was rather disinclined to look into it further. I didn't know what it was; I mean, I couldn't find anything in the literature about that sort of thing happening during an apprenticeship binding, and it never even occurred to me to read about soul bonds."

"Most soul bonds are formed at the same time a life debt is created," Minerva informed her. "I've never heard of one being created in an apprenticeship ceremony."

"The more you know," Hermione muttered. "As I said, it wasn't obvious to me at the time."

"But Severus did know what it was," Minerva insisted, temper sparking in her eyes.

"He did, or at least had a very good notion. But he stopped looking into things as soon as his research began to make clear what the nature of our bond was."

Minerva looked truly angry. "Of all the idiotic, insensitive…"

"I know," Hermione said, cutting her off. "I am none too pleased, either. But it is Severus, after all… are you really that shocked that he didn't handle it well?"

"No."

Hermione shrugged. "He was terrified by it, for a variety of reasons." Putting down her cup, she stared at the muted swirls of the carpet under her feet. "On Wednesday, when he was trying to break the Prewett Wards, he pulled on my magic, quite by accident. That's how I found out, after passing out in the Potions Closet. When I came to, I thought the incident had to do with my illness, but the more I started to think about it, nothing seemed to fit with what I've experienced before. Then I ran into Scheherazade in the hallway, and we spoke about it. After viewing the ceremony in her Pensive, she told me that it was a type of bond known as M'ahadat ed-dam."

Hermione stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache start as she recounted the events that had led up to their fight. "Severus, bless him, actively avoided me for the entirety of that day and the next morning. Needless to say, that rather hacked me off. Left to my own devices, I went to St. Mungo's yesterday and spoke with Richard Brightbrook a bit about the health consequences of bonds- I was, and still am concerned that I might be able to affect Severus's health because I'm sick…"

"Oh, bugger. I didn't even think of that…"

"…and I also picked up the first set of the patient health files, which made for simply lovely reading. There is nothing like researching the various ways that one might die to really make an evening really worthwhile," Hermione stopped and took a deep breath in, realizing that her tone had turned rather more sarcastic and bitter than she was comfortable with.

"Then Severus slunk in, looking just as guilty as Crookshanks does when he's vomited up something especially foul on the rug. We ate, and he finally brought me up to date on what happened with the Prewetts, which led him to tell me what he knew about the bond. He admitted that he had known about it for sometime, and I lost my temper." Again, Hermione stopped to breath, and Minerva watched her with unwavering compassion.

"He apologized, rather poorly, but at that point I wasn't really listening…" she felt herself blush as she recollected how badly she'd lost her control. "…and I, uh, was jabbing him pretty hard in the chest," Minerva's mouth quirked at that, but she still didn't interrupt. "…and he grabbed my hand."

Gently, she put her teacup down, aware that hand had started to shake. "Then the magic just… exploded, again. At first, I wasn't really… cognizant of what was happening: it was like drowning in pure emotion and all I could do was cling to him. But then things started to become more clear, and it wasn't just emotions, it was memories, and all the underlying sentiment attached to them. Imagine being dropped in the middle of someone's most personal, vulnerable, ugly, private remembrances, and seeing everything." Hermione tasted blood, and realized that she bitten her lip hard enough to break the skin.

Minerva had gone pale, and appeared genuinely shocked.

"That's what happened. All of Severus' memories and thoughts were just… there, for the viewing. Mine were too," Hermione confessed, "…but he was just sort of… floundering under the weight of all his worst memories. I saw all these things that happened to him as a child, as a Death Eater… and, oh, he hates himself so much." She swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "I don't know, I thought that he was… better, or at had come to terms with most of what happened before. He certainly acts like it. But he's not, and self-loathing doesn't even begin to describe how he feels about himself. The only way I can describe it is like if someone had slaughtered a Dementor, and all that negative, horrible emotion was released at once: that's what it felt like…"

Hermione came to a ragged halt, squeezing her eyes shut, a pale echo of the maelstrom of emotion striking her again.

"What happened next?" Minerva asked carefully.

Hermione opened her eyes again and looked at the Headmistress. "All I could think to do was try and show him how I saw him. How much I respect him… how much I trust him, and always have. It helped things enough that he was able to pull it back together. Regardless, the link between us had thinned so that it became just emotion again, not… everything. His face, when I saw it… it was awful. I could have stripped him naked and made him parade about in the Great Hall for all that it would have been less of a violation to him."

"Was he angry at you?"

"Yes, but more so at himself for losing control; he was horrified and furious that I had seen so much. Given his self-destructive tendencies, I made split second decision to drug him into an absolute stupor for the night and hope that he was at least able to muster a façade of normality this morning. I haven't heard any screams yet, so I assume that it was at least partially successful."

"He's been in high dudgeon all day," the Headmistress confirmed. "Literally and metaphorically. But nothing too out of character. I must say that am surprised he let you drug him, however."

"I didn't give him a choice," Hermione said flatly. "I wasn't going to let him hurt anyone, including himself."

"You did well, Hermione," Minerva declared softly. "Given everything. You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened. Or him, for that matter," she said somewhat wryly.

"I'm trying not too." Hermione rose from her chair, trying to work out some of her stiffness. "So, that's what happened, in a nutshell."

"It was certainly more… eventful than my evening, that's for sure," Minerva said. "Do you know how you wish to proceed? Are you going to continue with your apprenticeship?"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "You mean do I want to break our contract? No, absolutely not!"

"I would not blame you if you wanted some distance. Nor would I blame him. That's all I meant, Hermione."

"I can't speak for him, obviously. But I couldn't do that to him… not after everything. And I don't want to, anyway."

She stopped, trying to figure out how much she wanted to reveal to Minerva. "In this weird, twisted way, he's always been there for me, even when he loathed me. Did you know that he didn't just brew the Mandrake solution when I was Petrified, but he also came and read to me every night? Granted, there were several other people with me on the Hospital Ward, but he always sat next to my bed, and most often read the second year material. And then he saved Harry, Ron and I from Lupin in the Shack… he was the one who was able to halt Dolohov's curse long enough for the Healers to stabilize me. He gave us Gryffindor's Sword in the Forest of Dean, and I'm pretty sure that he was helping us when we were searching for the Horcruxes, in addition to everything else he did as a spy. And… I've been happier the last six months then I've been in a long time, maybe ever," Hermione concluded, mentally recalling their first frenzied exchanged of emails, the long days working together in the laboratory, the nights of comfort and conversation on his sofa…

"I can't just run away because I'm scared of how much I really…" she hesitated, stumbling over her words and unsure how to label her feelings, even to herself. Is this love? Is that what this is? Because it's so much more than simple respect and affection… "…I can't run away because I'm scared of how much I really care about him," she finally finished weakly, standing with her back to Minerva.

"But I am terrified," she whispered, the window in front of her reflecting back her tear stained and reddening face. "I'm afraid of caring that much about somebody who's primary coping tactic is denial. Underneath the layers and behind all the façades, it's like a bloody war, and the various factions are just brutal in the way that they are fighting it out."

Laughing sourly, she added, "…and that of course, does not take into account my own idiosyncrasies and issues, which are rather varied and great, themselves."

Minerva stayed silent long enough for her to compose herself and turn back around.

"Hermione," the older woman acknowledged, "…I can't, and won't offer you false comfort. Severus has always been dealt the toughest of cards in life, but has also stuck to his suffering like it was a religion. However, you must recognize that his capacity for denial is what kept him alive. Had he stopped to really think about what was happening, it would have gotten him killed, or he would have likely killed himself. Truthfully, I don't know if that's a habit he'll ever overcome, or even if should, with that sort of baggage. The only thing I can say is this- trust Severus. I didn't before, and it's perhaps the action that most haunts me."

With an effort, she pulled herself out her chair and came and put a comforting hand on Hermione's arm. "As you said not two weeks ago, we must take heart in the fact that he has chosen to come back, and wasn't forced into any of this, despite his protests to the contrary. Likewise, we must have faith that it will be the better parts of both you- not just him- that will emerge victorious from the ashes."

As if her words had formed a summoning, the fireplace unexpectedly whooshed to life, startling both women badly.

"Minerva, mo ghràidh?" a deep, male voice called.

Striding over to the green flames, Minerva called back. "Euan, I'm here. You can come through."

With another smoky exhalation, a tall, grey-haired man stepped from the fire, brushing soot from formal Healers robes. He paused, sighting Hermione, and Minerva gave him a nod in reassurance. "Euan, I think that you'll recognize Hermione Granger."

Hermione walked forward uncertainly, and the man gave her courtly bow before presenting a large hand.

"Hermione," said the Headmistress, finishing the introduction, "…this is Euan Muir, the Head Healer of St. Mungo's."

Hermione smiled back as they shook hands, somewhat surprised that Minerva appeared to be on such familiar terms with the Head of St. Mungo's. Then, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, she realized that this must be Minerva's long-hinted at beau, and she gave Minerva an arch, knowing look.

"Not a word to Severus," Minerva ordered, fighting a grin. "I want him to do the work and figure it out on his own. If he can, that is."

"As you wish, Headmistress," Hermione replied, her own smile widening.

Minerva just rolled her eyes and turned back to the Healer. "What's the problem this time, love?"

The man had not joined in their humour, and reached for one of Minerva's hands slowly. "Frank Longbottom died twenty minutes ago. I wanted to come and tell you and Neville myself."

"Oh, bugger it all," Minerva blurted, sudden, strong, grief flooding her features. "After all these years…"

Hermione's eyes filling with tears for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, and her thoughts echoed her mentor's, Oh, no… poor Neville. God, I hope he's not still teaching… Looking down at her watch, she saw that it was thankfully the middle of supper, and asked, "Do you want me to go fetch him? He still should be in the Great Hall eating."

"Would you?" Heartache thickened the Headmistress' accent. "I'll not send an elf for this sort of thing."

"Of course."

Minerva gave her watery smile of thanks, and Hermione closed the gap and gave the woman a swift hug. "I'm sorry. And thank you for listening to me whinge for so long today."

"The situation goes well beyond a mere whinge, my dear. Don't minimize it. We'll talk more later."

Hermione nodded again. "I'll go get Neville."

She hesitated outside of the Great Hall, casting cooling and cleansing charms on her face, hoping that it was enough to mask her emotions. Stepping into the cavernous space, she scanned the dais for Neville, and saw him mid-way down the table, sitting between Pomona and Septima Vector.

Pasting on her best bland expression, she walked over to him and tapped him lightly.

"Hullo, Hermione," he greeted her affectionately, turning in the chair. She saw him then as a stranger might; he was a handsome, and fit man, mischievous brown eyes and crooked smile leanding him an approachable charisma that few could match. And a lovely as the package is, what's inside is even better, she thought, fighting fiercely to maintain safe distance from the news she was delivering.

Neville saw enough in her face, however, to guess that she wasn't there for supper and genial chin-wag.

"Minerva needs to speak with you in her office immediately," she murmured, pitching her voice low enough that the excited Friday-night roar of students and staff all but covered her words.

Fear flashed briefly through his gaze, and he hissed, "Is it Gran?

She shook her head. "No, your father."

He glanced down for a long moment, and then precisely folded his napkin and placed it on the table. Rising gracefully, he pushed his chair in and gave her arm a squeeze. "Thank you, Hermione."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, at loss to say anything else.

"Don't be. It's a blessing and release, albeit a bitter one." Shoulders squaring, he started swiftly for the staff exit.

Hermione gazed blankly out over the students, trying to kick her brain back into gear enough to figure out what to do next. She was hungry, or at least should be, but she had no intention of eating in the Hall. Right, back to my rooms. And tonight, I'll order supper instead of cooking myself. I've earned that much, at least.

She had nearly reached the end of the table when a familiar dark voice intoned her name.

"Professor Granger." It was less of greeting, and more of an order to come forward.

Lovely. Absolutely lovely. He would want to talk now…

But when she made eye contact with the man, it took all she had to not flinch at the cold detachment reflected back at her. This was not Severus, but the feared Professor Snape of her youth.

"Professor Snape," she responded evenly.

"Is there a problem?" he sneered.

He was sitting in the final chair before the exit, and as she walked over to him, Hermione wondered if she should tell him, or simply keep her mouth shut. It'll hardly stay secret, and I doubt anything I might have to say to him at the moment will affect his mood any.

"Frank Longbottom died."

There was no visible reaction to her news. He picked up his knife and fork again, dismissal screamingly clear in his body language. "Inform me if I need to tell the cousin."

Belatedly, Hermione recalled that Neville had a cousin- Riley Burke, one of first years- in Slytherin.

"As you wish."

Snape skipped Sunday supper in favour of brewing Longbottom's promised Mandrake fertilizer- with requested for splash of slug repellent- and felt a dim sort of satisfaction as he perfunctorily decanted the milky mixture into an extra-large phial.

I'll drop it off and go for a run; with the light from the full moon, I should be able to get a good one in.

Mind made up, he quickly shucked off his protective gear and pulled on his running kit. Snagging the fertilizer, he left the laboratory and exited into the main staff hallway; Longbottom's rooms were only few doors down from his own. Knocking, he waited with jittery, annoyed impatience, just wanting to get outside. Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps behind him, Snape swivelled and saw Pomona Sprout walking towards him, two green-filled pots carefully cradled under each thick arm.

"Looking for Neville, are you?" the older woman asked, her cheerful tone faltering even as she did.

"No, I'm merely knocking on his door for the sheer hell of it," he snapped, and had the distinct pleasure of watching her mouth tighten with irritation at his rude reply. Ahh, but then she's always been easy one to nettle, he thought, smirking at his own joke.

Her boot-clad foot tapped an uncertain rhythm on the floor as she stared at up him, and Snape let the silence stretch out, knowing how much that particular tactic unnerved the Head of Hufflepuff.

"He's in Greenhouse Five," Pomona finally informed him, rather reluctantly.

Snape didn't acknowledge her comment other than to remove himself from Longbottom's door and start down the hallway; as he brushed past her, she called his name.

"Severus."

Glaring back at the woman, he halted and waited for whatever nonsense that she wanted to spew at him.

"Don't you dare go down there and needle that boy. Not two days after he's lost his father," she told him, attempting to infuse her voice with enough venom to constitute a threat.

He just sneered at her. "Ahh, so how many days should I wait, then? Three? Five? Tell me, how long would be considered socially correct in this circumstance?"

"Must you always be such a hateful bastard?"

He tsked at her mockingly. "Come now, Pomona, you full well know that I'm no bastard. My parents were married well before my distinguished arrival. After all, you were friends with my mother, were you not?"

"You are a hateful bastard." She enunciated each word carefully, bright spots of red ire blooming on her round cheeks.

"Be that as it may, I've also been a helpful, hateful, bastard over the years. Haven't I?"

She said nothing, and Snape saw that she was gripping the clay pots hard enough that her hands hand gone white under all the collected dirt and grime.

"Take this for example," He dangled the brown bottle in front of her face tauntingly. "Custom brewed Mandrake fertilizer for the poor, pitiful Professor Longbottom…"

"You were not the only one hurt by the war, you know. It wasn't easy time for any of us," she hissed at him.

"No, I was not the only one hurt," he agreed, abruptly dropping the mockery. "But I've made my apologies and I've damn well paid for my sins." Looming over her, he let his voice go silky. "But have you? Because I certainly don't recall an apology from your quarter…"

Again, he let the silence spin out. Snape didn't have to spell out her crimes for her; she'd tried to kill him during his year as Headmaster- so had Minerva and Filius, along with a lengthy, meandering list of others- but it had been her attempt that had come closest, which he found to be supremely ironic. She was soft-hearted and squeamish to a fault, and for that reason, he had marginally trusted her in those dark days.

"No," he continued on in the same vein, "…what I can't forgive that is that you had no way of knowing if that the dried digitalis that you passed off for comfrey leaf was for my own private stores, or something that that would have ended being used by a student. You knew, Pomona, you bloody well knew that I still brewed all the stock for the Hospital Ward, and yet you gave me one of the most deadly poisons with nary a hesitation."

The woman had started to shake violently, and Snape let out a nasty laugh at her distress. "It could have easily killed a student, Pomona, and that is what I cannot forgive. Of course, you would not have been blamed had that happened; it would have been yet another crime placed at my door. Lucky for you, I did end up using it for myself, and had taken to keeping a bezoar on me at all times, so all your scheming was for naught."

He stepped away, straightening to his full height. "Do not dare to lecture me on morals ever again. And next time, do leave the assassination attempts to those who actually know what they are doing."

Snape could hear the sound of assorted crashes and cursing as he approached the entrance to Greenhouse Five. Ahh, yes, time for the old maxim of 'Constant Vigilance', he thought snidely, and cast a strong shielding charm over himself as he stepped over the threshold.

Two entire workbenches had been overturned, and broken pots and plants littered the ground with angry abandon. The burning tang of whisky and magic floated strong in the air, and Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand sharply as a whisper of movement came from his right; shifting and pulling his wand in one smooth movement, he shot a ball of mage light towards the ceiling.

Neville Longbottom stood not a metre and half from him, and just for a second, harsh fury painted his features with a clear denunciation: Death Eater. Murderer. Torturer. It was a charge that he'd expected to receive from the man long before this night, and Snape found that there was a small part of him that was oddly hurt by that hate-filled glare.

But it was all true, of course. He had killed, many, many times- and Longbottom could personally attest to his skill with the Cruciatus Curse, among others. Because for all his self-righteous posturing with Pomona, he didn't really have a leg stand on, morally speaking. Not after all he'd done, and not done.

I am a monster.

Longbottom ghosted forward another step, and for the first time, Snape realized that the other man was not only good hand taller, but also out weighed him by several stone, too. Adrenaline rocketed through him in a way that he'd not experienced in years, and it occurred to him that coming to this greenhouse, on this night, might not have been the smartest choice that he could have made.

And then, like a candle being snuffed out, the fury animating Longbottom's face disappeared under a cover of eerie blankness.

"What do you want, Snape?"

"I believe that I promised you this," he said, holding the bottle out with his non-wand hand.

"And you always keep your promises, don't you?"

The taunt was surprisingly… effective.

Snape's own anger deserted him, and he wanted nothing more than to flee down the footpath to the lake, and the darkness.

Longbottom had still not taken the bottle from him, and so Snape placed it on the remaining table by to the door.

"Five parts water to one part mixture. Wear a ventilator or Bubble Head Charm when you combine the two, and don't place it in an aluminium can."

There was no response, and he debated whether or not he should turn his back on Longbottom to make his getaway; Snape wasn't at the correct angle to ease through the doorway sideways, but on the other hand, he wasn't keen on having the strength of his Shield Charm tested, à la Ceasar.

Pride, or protection?

"Did you know about the attack?" Longbottom's softly susurrated question should not have hit him like a sucker-punch, but it did.

"No." The single word was torn from him, all unwilling. He had warned Alice, to be sure; had told her that she and Frank were named as blood-traitors, and that they would be prime targets for the Death Eaters. But in the end, it hadn't mattered, and like much of his bitterly earned knowledge, had not saved their lives.

"But you knew that they were in danger."

"They were Aurors, Longbottom, and members of the Order of the Phoenix to boot. They didn't need me to tell them that many people wanted them dead."

The boy said nothing, just continued to stare, and Snape looked at the ground.

"I spoke Dumbledore numerous times about the threats being made against them, and I told your mother as well when I last saw her. But, no, I didn't know about any concrete plans to go after them. After the Dark Lord had fallen, I spent that week in Azkaban before I was brought back to Hogwarts and magically bound from leaving the grounds. I knew nothing of the remaining Death Eaters, or their plans."

Hearing a muted clink accompanied 'pop', Snape glanced up and saw Longbottom take a deep swig of fire whisky. He exhaled shakily, rubbing his chest roughly as the liquid made its way down.

"Tell me about my parents."

Snape felt his mouth open, but no words came out. What could he say about the Longbottoms that hadn't already been said? They were far better folk than he, certainly. Had just been good folk, full stop.

"I didn't know Frank. Not really." The voice came out of the depths of the dark, startling them both.

"He was a seventh year when I was a first, but even once I left Hogwarts, we travelled in vastly different social circles. He was bohemian, and I was… not. Twice, he debriefed me when Dumbledore couldn't. Those were the only true discussions I had with him. Frank wasn't flashy, or brash, but he wasn't an introverted scholar, either."

It was such a pallid accounting of a man who had been so much more, and Snape struggled to find something that would give any depth to his reckoning. "Six months, maybe, before he and Alice were… hurt, he led a team of Aurors into an abandoned building that we'd been meeting in." The absurdity of the situation bubbled back to him, and Snape felt hysterical laughter well up.

"It was an old Muggle farmhouse, surrounded by sheep pastures. The Aurors caught us totally by surprise; they had laid anti-Apparition wards before we had even realised that something was up. Lucius and I were closest to the back hallway when we saw Frank and Mad-Eye come in, slinging hexes, and we legged it. To get out, we had to cut through the kitchen; Lucius damn near hung himself on a wash line, but we eventually got out of the house, and then the yard. I looked back, and could see Frank just laying into four or five of the lads as the farmhouse crumbled around them. Mad-Eye was totally oblivious to everything but the fighting, of course, so it was up to Frank to not only try and capture those that remained, but also keep the whole damn structure from falling on the lot of them." Snape shook his head, recalling how the magic that summer night had pulsed and sang around them like a living thing.

"He did it too; I've never seen someone cast that many non-verbal spells at once."

"How did you get away?"

"Ran through the fields. Nearly got taken out by some stroppy sheep, too, but made it to the end of the wards and Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa met us at the gate, and just about hexed the bollocks of Lucius, right then and there." The laugh finally escaped. "He had this absolute massive Muggle bra dangling from his neck… we had a hell of time convincing her that it had a farmhouse, not a whorehouse, that we were fleeing from."

Sometime in his rambling soliloquy, Longbottom had slid to the ground, and was sitting with on the greenhouse floor with a glassy-eyed unconcern. "Was my mum there?"

Alice. The pain evoked by that particular name was a physical on, and Snape's knees went weak with the effort so keeping upright. Bright, bonny, bossy Alice, who had been a friend and a protector…

"No," he rasped out. "She had not yet come back to work after having you, I think."

"Was she as good with magic as my Dad?"

"Better. She was bloody brilliant…" The words were pouring out of him now, with all the fluidity of blood following a deep cut. "Alice was… magnificent. She was the best possible epitome of what it means to be a Hufflepuff. Smart and stubborn, and so grounded by what she knew was right thing to do. By the time she was Head Girl, she had made friends in all of the houses, which was no mean feat considering that we were all but living in a civil war. And she had this laugh… oh, god, her laugh…"

Something dripped from his chin to his chest, and Snape became aware that he was crying.

"It held all the affection and warmth of a summer sunrise. It made you feel… special."

Longbottom was openly gaping at him. "You were friends with my mum? How?"

"Because unlike me, Alice was not an anti-social, billy-no-mates bastard!" With an effort, he calmed his tone. "She found me in the Library, about a week or so into my fourth year. I had several books that she needed, and she poked and prodded me long enough that I finally broke down and talked with her. The following week she was back… and after awhile, it became her habit to come study with me every few days. I kept the other students away, you see," he said, an acerbic patina coating his last statement.

Closing his eyes, he deliberately called forth her face, imagining the crooked little half-smile she'd get on her expression right before saying something completely ridiculous… "That's not why she kept at it though. It wasn't out of pity, or merely just a part of her duties as a Head Girl, or because she wanted me to do her work… she simply cared enough to be my friend. She could look at anyone and see the good in them."

It had always given him a particular, possessive pleasure when she'd come sit with him amongst the library stacks; the Head Girl had chosen to sit with him, rather than anyone else. He'd be nose-deep in a book when he'd catch sight of her bustling over to his table, and would have to hide the smirk that always threatened to erupt as her encourage would slowly peel away under the weight of his disapproving stare. She'd flop down, pull out her books and ever-present pack of gum and launch into conversation like it was only natural that they'd be friends… that they would have something to talk about.

And they had. That was the hell of it- she had been smart and curious, and not scared off by his interest in the Dark Arts- and he had missed her badly when she'd graduated. The library became a colder place, then…

"Why?" Longbottom's fury was back, and with a vengeance. "Why, if you liked her so much, and respected my father, were you so cruel to me? Would it have killed you to treat me with the same kindness that she showed you?"

"You know nothing!" he snarled, and somewhere behind him, glass shattered. "Would it have killed me? Yes, in one bloody form or another, it would have! You were the only child of two notorious blood traitors, and had I showed you any kindness, my life would have been forfeit as soon as word made it back to the Dark Lord. People utterly hated your parents, boy, because they brought so many Death Eaters down. And even if that had not be true… do you have any idea what it was like to watch you, day in and day out, knowing that in the end you would be no more than cannon fodder? You would be used by Dumbledore, just as I was…"

His hands had knotted into fists of rage, and he was almost screaming. "Do you know how of my Slytherin year-mates are alive today? Three- three fucking people out of twenty-five, and I'm the only male of the group left. Then, of course, there are all the other people I went to school with that were eaten up by that war. I lost just about everyone that I cared about; fuck, most of the people I despised were killed, too… Think on that, boy. I not only watched everyone around me die, horrid, pointless, lingering deaths, but then I had to watch their children come into my classroom and become the next generation of walking dead!"

Longbottom hadn't so much as blinked, and Snape wanted to lean forward and wring his neck.

"And you! You weren't good at anything, other than hanging around with Potter, and he did his damnedest to get you killed, too. Tell me, Longbottom, what should I have done? I kept you alive. I made sure that you had a fucking chance. Hate me if you will, but don't you dare demand anything further of me!"

The silence in the greenhouse was absolute.

Finally, it was Longbottom that spoke. He sounded tired, and little lost. "I don't hate you, Snape. I hate the things that you did. I hated who you were. But I'm not daft, or blind enough to ignore the many sacrifices that you made to keep us alive."

There was something in his gaze- a remnant of trust, perhaps- that made Snape think that Longbottom might actually be telling the truth.

He met Longbottom's eyes. "Then you are far more like your mother than you will ever know."

Hermione was just opening the outer door to her quarters when Pomona Sprout poked her head from her own doorway.

"Good evening, Pomona," she called out.

Pomona did not return her greeting, giving her a rather frosty glower. "Has your Master returned to his rooms?" the older woman demanded.

"You mean Severus?" Hermione asked, put off by both Pomona's aggressive style and address; her former Herbology professor had never been so much as impolite to her in all the years that she had known her.

"Who else?"

"Not unless he's come back in the last half an hour. I was up on the Astronomy Tower on my mobile because the reception is rubbish in my rooms…"

"On your what?" the older woman snapped, vexed.

"On my mobile phone…" Seeing that the woman had no earthly idea what she was talking about, Hermione explained. "This little black thing here- it's what Muggles use rather than making a floo call. I was talking to a friend in Wales. Pomona… what's the matter? Why do you need to see Severus so urgently?"

"I don't need to see Snape at all. As a matter of fact, I'd rather if I didn't, ever again! No, that blasted man went down to yell at poor Neville almost an hour ago, and I've not seen either of them since…"

What remained of her pleasant mood generated from speaking to Aditi drained away as she recalled both how Severus had treated Neville in their youth, and his current temper. Oh, balls. I'd better go and check things out.

"I'm sure that things are perfectly fine, but I'll go down and check on things. What greenhouse were they in?"

"Five."

"I'll give you a knock when I've come back up to let you know that everything's fine, okay?" Hermione added, wondering if she should get Minerva or Poppy to go down with her just in case.

Sprout sighed. "No, I'll not let you go down there alone. Let me just grab my wellies…"

The pace to the greenhouses was a brisk one; she stumbled more than once on the unfamiliar ground, but Pomona had no such issues. Hearing the other woman gasp suddenly, Hermione swung her gaze upward from her footing to the glass structure looming ahead of them.

Although the front of the building was still in place, the glass was completely shattered, making it almost appear as if spider webs covered the building. Pomona broke from her hurried shuffle to a run, and Hermione hastened to keep up. As they came around the corner, she caught a glimpse of the dimly lit interior; Severus was standing over Neville, and it appeared that there had been some kind of row.

Pomona had her wand out and had cast some sort of purple-edged curse before Hermione even had a chance to properly take in the tableau; yanking her own wand out of her pocket, she screamed in warning, "Severus!"

There was a brief, blinding explosion of light, and Hermione ran smack into both Pomona and the doorframe. Eyes watering, she squinted, trying to see if anyone had been hurt.

"What did you do, you horrible man?" Pomona yelled, just as Hermione cast a non-verbal Expelliarmus. The other woman's wand came flying backwards, practically poking her in the eye.

A confused sounding Neville finally spoke up. "What the bloody hell, Pomona? Why'd you do that? You could have hurt one of us, you know… it's a damn lucky thing that I was quick with a shielding charm…"

"You're not hurt?" Pomona said, disbelieving.

"No."

The charm had dissipated enough that both she and Hermione were able to fully enter the room, which was in complete disarray. Neville sat amongst the pots, looking rather worse for the wear, and Severus was standing the shadows. In what was left of the feeble moonlight, she could only make out that he seemed to be unharmed.

"Then why are you sitting on the ground with all those broken pots?" the woman asked, voice cracking.

Neville held up a mostly-empty bottle of fire whisky. "Because," he began, voice turning from puzzled to pedantic. "…I am drunk. And Snape was telling me stories about my parents, so I sat down. It only seemed polite."

"He didn't… do any of this?"

"Nope. I did." Pointing to a brown phial perched precariously on the edge of a table, he continued. "He brought me my Mandrake fertilizer. And told me about my Mum and Dad."

Pomona peered around in dismay. "Oh, you poor lad… teaching is going to be fun tomorrow…" She sighed, and stepped over to him, stretching out a hand. "Up you go, then. Come along. I'll get you back to your rooms safely."

Pulling Neville up, she placed a steadying pressure on his waist as he wobbled. "Let's go…" Without another word to either Severus or Hermione, she pushed Neville out the door and towards the Castle.

"Lumos," Hermione murmured, flicking her wand and walking towards Severus.

In the bright glare of her wand light, he looked horrible, his dark eyes blank and unfocused, and she saw traces of that unbearable vulnerability from before. "Severus?" she questioned, trying to keep her voice from being blatant in its concern.

"Are you alright?" Reaching forward to touch his arm, she was stunned when he flinched backwards, evading her hand with a jerky movement.

"Don't," he hissed, anger or something like it turning the words rough. Fearful. "Don't fucking touch me."

Hermione froze, hurt and humiliation taking rapid root around her. Taking advantaged of her stillness, Severus swept past her and out into the dark night.

A/N- You didn't think that they'd just be able to talk things over and move on gracefully, did you?

So... lots of important conversations. Perhaps not the ones that ya'll wanted, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. It's not gratuitous angst- I just don't see Snape taking any of this well, given his past history of people breaking into his brain. I look forward to reading your reactions ;)

Welcome, and my thanks to all the new people who have fav'd, followed and commented recently. It's all a bit mind-boggling to me that my story- one that started off as whim brought on by boredom- now has almost 100,000 views and over 400 reviews and followers. And to all my loyal readers and commenters- hugs, and a virtual drink of your choice!

Speaking of such, the lovely viola1701e provided Minerva with one of her comments- the line about Snape sticking to his suffering like a religion came from a review that she left some chapters ago. Thanks, dear! High-fives to corie.f, Brightki, orlando switch, MJJnMK, BlueWater5, KEZZ 1, viola1701e, mama123, ConstanceScully, Banglabou, Jinxd n cursed, RhodaBush, TheLadyJaye, Smithback, Dentelle, lunarose87, An anxious fan, Kazavan, amr, and several guests who were all kind enough to leave comments on the last chapter.

To the guest who left a review on the 14 July- lol, and thanks so much! I don't think I've ever been so complemented by someone saying they wanted to choke me. As for not rushing things- bare in mind that most of my chapters are about 9,000 words right now, so another 10-15 chapters will easily be another 100,000 words. Hopefully, it won't just feel like I've ended things because I want the story to end. If anything I can see the more SPaG-y/writing minded folks out there wishing that I had a proper editor...

Likewise, thanks An anxious fan and amr- I love reading you comments and any answering questions so keep them coming. Alas, amr, I think that this will break my own 50 chapter rule. Dem's the berries...

I'm not going to promise, but I *think* I might be able to update by next weekend. It's amazing how much writing can get done when I don't have to work! ;) Take care, and happy reading!