Chapter Two
Snape lunged upright, clutching at his bucking, shuddering heart. His eyes darted around the reassuring mundanity of his bedroom. The nighttime sky painted the walls and furniture a bland blue grey, and he forced himself to slow his breathing and release the white-knuckled grip he had on his comforter.
Always the same dream. A blunt, wedge-shaped head with flat, golden eyes. Jaws opening wide, wider, impossibly, horribly wide. Wet, ivory fangs snapping forward with venom spraying from the tips. And then pain. Searing, burning, roiling red pain. Pain worse than the Cruciatus Curse. Worse than the searing of his Dark Mark. Worse than seeing Lily's eyes burning in the face of The-Boy-That-Should-Have-Been-His. It was unimaginable.
Snape flipped his legs over the edge of his bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He concentrated on the fist around his heart until he felt it start to ease. Seeking comfort, he lifted his head and stared out the window, his eyes searching for Hermione's familiar shape on the window shades across the garden.
Knowing she was there was usually enough. That she cared if he lived or died made a difference to him. And knowing that she'd most likely show up at his house obnoxiously early the next morning with guilt-laced baked goods in tow was usually enough to send him back to bed with a smile on his lips. If she weren't so twisted up in knots, he'd laugh in her face. The idea that his salvation should feel the need to make reparations was ridiculous.
But tonight it didn't suffice. He was a quaking, jittery mass of nerves. He wanted to see her… to have proof that this wasn't a fever dream brought on by the poison pumped through his veins.
He stood and walked to the window, resting his forearm against the sash. There, the light in her bedroom flicked on. As if he'd Summoned her, she appeared in the window, pausing to glance toward his cottage for just an instant, before seating herself at her vanity to braid her hair.
Snape counted the strokes of her brush, imagining he could hear each gentle swoosh as the soft bristles swept through the locks of her hair, separating and untangling. By ten, he'd stopped feeling any discomfort. By twenty, he was fully absorbed in her ritual. By one hundred, she'd put the brush down, and Snape had forgotten everything but the dance of her fingers as she twisted and tamed her hair into a French braid, tying it off with an elastic.
Hermione stood and pulled off her sweater, exposing a blue silk camisole. Snape immediately pulled back from the window and turned away, blushing. He wasn't trying to fetishize the woman, despite his attraction to her. No, that would cheapen both of them.
She was his friend and his only link to both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. That was enough. He was content in that Limbo, but only as long as she was there… as long as she continued to care. Snape knew it wouldn't last forever, but he'd stay as long as it did. And when that link was gone, he'd venture out into the Muggle world and leave the Wizarding one behind for good. After all, he was a man reviled and as good as a Squib. What sort of place could he expect to carve for himself?
Content, he lay back down in his bed, shivering as he wrapped the cooled sheets around his body. His heart beat a calm, gentle rhythm. Stretching out on his belly, he pillowed his head on his arm and allowed the muscles of his back to relax, one by one. As Snape drifted off, he wondered how his life would have been different if he had met a different Muggleborn on the playground all those years ago.
By the time Hermione knocked on his door the next morning, Snape was already showered and dressed in his Potions master armor. His silver buttons shone and his frock coat was pristine. After Nagini, he'd taken to wearing Victorian collars that stood up nearly to his chin, protective plating to discourage gawkers.
When Granger saw him, she fell back a step, nearly falling from his front stoop. He steadied her with a hand and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"It's always surprising to see you like that." She cleared her throat and stared at the line of buttons on his chest. "It's easy to forget sometimes that you were my teacher, and I've grown accustomed to seeing you in more casual clothing."
"Did you forget what today is? Appointments at the Ministry and St. Mungos?"
"No, of course not. It's just… cognitive dissonance to see my old Potions master living in my back garden. He's rather a different creature than Snape-the-tenant." Hermione fussed with a wicker basket she held slung over an arm.
"Not really," he said, trying not to think of silky blue camisoles.
"To me, then."
He pursed his lips. "Perhaps." Snape watched her worry at the checkered cloth thrown over the top of the basket. "Do you plan on coming inside, or are you selling something door-to-door?"
"Would you buy?" She gifted him with a quicksilver smile. The tension between them eased.
"Perhaps," he murmured, his voice suddenly warm. He stepped aside and waved her in. "Every second you dither delays breakfast, Granger."
"Oh? What is for breakfast, then?"
"I don't know for sure yet, but from the smell, I'm guessing cranberry scones?"
"Strong nose."
He shrugged and tapped his impressive protuberance, unashamed. "That should be on my grave marker. 'Here lies Snape. He had a strong nose.' It's just about the kindest manner in which I've heard anyone describe it."
"I'm sure they were just intimidated. Big hands, big nose, big…" She let that trail off and set the basket on the worktop.
"Stop your nonsense and plate up the scones." He peeled her out of her jacket and scarf and nudged her toward his cabinets.
"Yes, Professor."
He smirked and hung her jacket up on a hook by the door. It smelled of honeysuckle, tickling his nose, and his smirk grew into a genuine smile.
They drank British breakfast tea and ate a scone each in friendly silence. After wiping her mouth with a napkin, Hermione said, "Are you ready?"
Snape gestured to his frock coat. "As you see."
"Do you hate this so much then?"
"Of course I do." He stood and picked up her plate, stacking it on top of his. He shook the crumbs into the dustbin. "I detest going into Diagon Alley. I nearly choke on the hatred of people around me. Every step is a new game of roulette. What do you think will happen to me today? Will I be pinched, spat upon, groped, punched, verbally assaulted? Will some deluded witch propose to me? Will a Pure-Blood Supremacist try to hex me? Will I be mobbed today or shunned?" He deposited the plates in the sink with a loud clink. "I hate it."
Hermione opened and then shut her mouth. Trying again, she asked, "Witches have proposed to you?"
Snape scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes. Fucking Potter. Stupid, fucking Potter couldn't leave well enough alone."
The edge of Hermione's lips twitched. "Get any good ones?"
He eyed her. "None I'd consider."
"And why is that?" she asked, teasingly.
"Entirely insufficient trust funds." He spread his hands wide. "There needs to be a little gravy to live on after I off them, don't you think?"
The smile she gave Snape was gentle. "Shall we go then?"
"Gods, please. I just want to get this done."
She stepped next to him and said, "Come on. We can use my Floo."
"I'm sorry. Vault 9145527 is still in impound status." Percy Weasley didn't sound sorry at all.
"Why? It only took three years of studying the same six minutes worth of pensieved memories and the support of Harry-Bloody-Potter, but the Ministry declared me innocent twelve months ago. What is the hold up?"
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information, Snape." The red-head's smile was smug.
Hermione growled, and Percy's grin faded. "Maybe you should think about bending the rules just this once." She leaned forward. "Why is Mr. Snape's vault still locked down by the Ministry?"
The clerk cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. He smoothed a stray wrinkle from his fussy green robes.
"Percy, don't make me mention this to your mother, or worse, your wife. Did you know that Penelope is my junior mediwitch intern?"
He cleared his throat. "She's mentioned it a time or two." Sighing at last, he leaned forward and placed his arms on his mahogany desk. "The official line is that Fudge acknowledges the debt we all owe Snape—Mr. Snape. However, he worries that over the course of Mr. Snape's duties as a spy, in order to maintain his cover, he might have had to hold or accumulate various Dark Objects that should be in Ministry hands for the safety of the general populace."
Snape gritted his teeth. "What's the unofficial line?"
Percy blinked. "He hates you, of course. I'd be very surprised if there's very much left in your vault when he's done."
"The complete Prince library is stored there. My mother's jewelry, as well."
"Probably not any longer." Percy's eyes glowed with ill-concealed pleasure.
Snape turned and walked out. He wanted to slam the door, but Hermione trailed too close behind him. "I'm not sure why I didn't expect this. Of course it's not over. It'll never be over."
"That bastard. That complete and utter bastard. This isn't the end, Snape. I'll talk to Harry. We'll put public pressure on Fudge to get him to release your vault," she said.
Whirling in his tracks, he shoved his finger in front of her face and hissed, "No. Don't you dare bring Potter into my business. I forbid it. It's humiliating enough having you as my champion. No more. No more."
Hermione's face drained of color, and she stepped back from him, pushing his hand away. Immediately, Snape felt a wash of overwhelming remorse pour through him, and he reached out to touch her shoulder. When she winced, he dropped his arm.
"I'm not trying to be your champion," she whispered. "I'm… I just want to be your friend. And I want to fix what I broke in you. That's all." Her eyes reddened, and he feared she was about to start crying.
He scrubbed his palm over his face. "Stop, just… stop. Just forget I said that." I'm sorry, danced at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. The words choked him, making him feel as if he was drowning in a morass of Hermione's guilt.
She nodded, looking ridiculously grateful, and he felt even more impotent.
He wanted to shake her. Why was she so eager to shoulder his culpability? She'd done nothing but save him from death, from himself. He wanted her to flare and spark with life, with justified anger, with anything other than that wounded, guilty look. He bit his tongue and offered her his arm instead. Her hand wrapped around his bicep, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder for just an instant before sighing.
"On the count of three. One… Two… Three…"
Snape felt the tug of Side-Along Apparition.
He held his shoulders straight and his head high as they left the Apparition point and walked into the throng of people. People stopped and stared, faces twisted in fear or hatred, and he met their gazes with a mask of composure.
A soft susurration of cloth and a mumbled word.
Stopping abruptly, he threw his arm out in front of Hermione to halt her a step behind him, and then leaned back, allowing a vivid orange hex to whiz past his nose and splatter on the exterior brick wall of Flourish & Blotts. It left a blackened, smoking scorch mark.
Granger whirled, her hair bristling with magic, and threw a modified Protego up around them as a shield. "Who? Who did it?" she shouted.
The crowd was silent, frozen in the face of her anger.
Snape watched as a man with white-blond hair eased out of the crowd and into a side street. He said nothing, letting him go.
"Hermione, let's go. We've an appointment to keep."
"And just let them get away with it? I don't think so. Nobody is leaving here until the Aurors cast Priori Incantatem on their wands." She scanned the crowd with a gimlet eye.
"Let it go."
"What? Snape, no!"
"The caster has already left." He reached for her hand and pulled her along with him as he fled the crowd for St. Mungos. Their Protego shield shimmered and dissolved.
"You saw him?" she whispered.
"Yes, and I'd like to handle this my own way. No Aurors. No Potter. Will you let me do that?" He glanced over at her.
"Who was it?"
He hesitated, warring within himself. "My godson."
She bit her lip, but nodded. "All right. I'll back off. However, if you do not take care of it, I will."
Snape smiled at this spark of spirit. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
"Just so we're clear."
"As the nose on my face," he said dryly. He watched her fight to swallow a smile and squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "Come on. Healer Lofgren is awaiting us."