As the weather turned in October, Hermione realized how traumatizing the entire month of October was for Severus. Thinking back, she could remember his mood being especially sour the first term, but she never attributed it to Halloween, and it always seemed within the usual range of Snape moods. Now, after having spent every day of the last few months with him, seeing him relatively happy, she could absolutely tell the difference in his demeanor. The students could as well. He was not a patient teacher, but his fuse was exceptionally short. His classes were quieter than usual, even more focused on staying out of the strict professor's way.

At night, Severus was mostly restless. He was exceptionally careful not to direct his short fuse toward her and, instead, retreated to the lab. He brewed nearly nonstop, late into the night. When he did sleep, his nightmares plagued him. That night, toward the end of October, Hermione sat reading on the couch after a long evening of marking essays when a loud crash followed by several curses came from the lab. Hermione stood and moved to the doorway. She observed the scene before her. Severus hadn't knocked anything over or dropped anything. He'd launched a large beaker across the lab and it had exploded against the stone wall. He was standing near the lab bench with his fingers pressed into his temples.

"Severus?" She asked. "Are you okay?"

He grunted and then pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled his wand from his sleeve and whisked away the mess. "Bit of a headache."

She moved toward him as she summoned a Headache Relief potion. Handing it to him, he nodded in thanks and downed the vial. In truth, his head was pounding and he was leaning more toward the migraine end on the spectrum of headaches. The lack of sleep was wearing on him.

"Come," She said and held out her hand to him. "You need a break."

He was not in any state to protest as she grabbed his hand and led him to the couch. He leaned his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard hoping for faster relief from the throbbing pain behind his eyes. As she watched him, she could tell he was truly struggling.

"Is it always so bad?" She asked gently.

"'It' meaning..." He drawled lowly in a tense voice.

"October," She said softly.

He stiffened and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "This is only the second year I've experienced October post-1981 with such sobriety." His voice was low, and filled with a hurt plea for her to tread carefully.

"I..." Her mind reeled at the realization. "You..." He was quiet on the other end of the couch. Worry creased his face. That was something they'd never discussed. "The other year...?"

"After the war. Truthfully, I had no real concept of time then, so I suppose this is the first October where I've been fully aware and not absolutely pissed."

Her brow furrowed. "Even when you taught?"

"Despite my criminal record, I have never been drunk whilst teaching. My October nights were filled with liquor, and I spent the days so hungover I couldn't possibly think about much of anything."

"And now..."

"Well, I'm certainly not drunk, am I?" He asked coldly.

She recoiled at his tone slightly. "Why?"

His lip twitched dangerously as his eyes snapped open. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his features. "I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt."

"I understand," She said. He narrowed his eyes. "You're not drinking now... Because I'm here?"

"It is not lost on me that my chosen coping mechanism is not... Healthy," He said. His use of the word "healthy" was deliberate. He was trying to show his willingness to grow, to show he'd listened to her.

Her heart ached for him. He was rubbing his pointer fingers on his temples. His headache must have been horrible if the remedy hadn't helped. She rested her hands on the back of his head and he froze. He was incredibly self conscious about having his hair touched. It was far less oily than it had appeared when she'd been a student, probably because he was less stressed now, but it had been such a source of torment for him.

"Relax," She said softly. She ran her fingers through his hair down the back of his head. His hair was thicker than she had thought it has looked when she was a student. It was wavy even, in some spots, and as long as it had been when he'd been Headmaster, though she had only seen him so briefly then and had hardly any time to notice anything about his physical appearance other than the gaping wounds in his throat.

She continued to stroke her fingers through his hair and, slowly, the tension in his body lessened. After a few minutes, she asked, "Maybe you should try to talk about some of it?"

He turned his head and met her gaze. "Hermione..."

"What?" She said, growing slightly annoyed. Then her voice softened. "What you're doing isn't working, Severus. I'm only trying to help..."

He looked and leaned away from her, his head out of reach. "What is there to discuss that you don't already know?"

"It doesn't matter what I know. What matters is how you feel." He rolled his eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek. He was trying to provoke her so she'd drop it. "How long was it after you heard the prophecy that you realized the prophecy referred to Harry?"

He was quiet for a very long time. She moved closer to him again and resumed stroking his hair. He was exceptionally tense. After awhile, he said, "It didn't necessarily refer to Potter. The Dark Lord realized it could have been either Potter or Longbottom, but he feared the blood status similarities between Potter and himself, so he chose it to mean Potter."

"Wait," Hermione said and furrowed her brow. "Voldemort... chose Harry?"

Severus winced at the use of the Dark Lord's name. "Potter never told you?"

"I..." She stumbled for words. Her hand fell away from his head and into her lap. "No, but I suppose that makes sense now that I think about it." Severus was very quiet while Hermione thought about the implications of what he had told her.

After awhile, he felt her eyes on him and he could feel the tension in the space between them. "Ask me," He said lowly.

"What?" She asked, taken aback at his tone.

"Ask me, Hermione," He said. "I can practically hear the question clanging around in your head. Don't let that Gryffindor courage fail you now." His dark eyes glittered dangerously.

"Severus..."

"Would I have betrayed the Dark Lord if it his plan hadn't involved Lily Potter?" He asked icily. His eyes moved back and forth over her face and then his face turned stony as she recoiled slightly. "Ask me, Hermione."

"You're looking for a fight," She said pointedly and stood.

He mirrored her actions. "Ask me," He growled.

"I'm not doing this, Severus," She said and moved away from him.

"The answer is no," He said loudly. "No, Hermione. I would not have betrayed the Dark Lord if his plan had not involved Lily."

Hermione turned on him furiously. "I absolutely do not want this conversation right now, Severus. Especially not when you're in this kind of mood."

"Do you care about why my answer is no, or are you content to merely accept that I truly am that selfish?" He asked coldly. "Probably easy to think the latter, isn't it?" She crossed her arms defensively. "No, I wouldn't have betrayed the Dark Lord, but not because I was truly so selfish. I'm sure that comes as a surprise," He said and moved past her toward door to the corridor. "Being a spy was hell." He let his hand rest on the handle. "Doing what I did destroyed me," He spat, and opened and then closed the door behind him hard leaving Hermione staring dumbfounded at the door.