Disclaimer: I do NOT own these characters or the world they live in. I make no money from this story.

Chapter 13

When Hermione began to regain consciousness, the first thing she noticed was the awful metallic taste in her mouth. She desperately needed to brush her teeth. She also vaguely remembered dreaming about falling, or maybe running. The more she tried to recall the details, the further they slipped away.

As though she'd overslept for school, her eyes popped open and her heart skittered to a panicked beat when she remembered several things all at once. She would face Voldemort today. She had only hours to prepare. Lucius had been in the house. Was her face really orange?

She checked her watch and had to focus very hard to determine that it was indeed eight o'clock. Still early. Feeling hungover and stiff, she jumped up, ripped open the bookcase and bounded up the stairs, although she slowed considerably on the top two steps as the adrenaline wore off.

Winded but undeterred, stepped in front of the bathroom mirror. Truth be told, she could have done without seeing her reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess of frizzy curls. Her bloodshot eyes peered out from hollow dark circles. Oh, and a good third of her face was orange.

Had she touched something she was allergic to? She poked at her cheek and the orange faded briefly, like a sunburn. It wasn't makeup or paint. Maybe Snape could help her figure out what had happened.

Claiming the bathroom as hers for the time being, Hermione took a bird bath in the sink, brushed her teeth, and refreshed her clothes. Feeling some semblance of humanness again, she went to wake Harry. To her surprise, the bed was slept in but empty. The house was not big enough to hide in so either he was downstairs or gone, and she hadn't seen him downstairs.

The adrenaline rush had faded fast. She felt very much like she used to when she'd stay up almost all night studying, then get only a few hours sleep before an exam. Vaguely nauseous, vaguely hungry, a little shaky, and a little cold. She pulled her robes close and sat on the top step for a moment.

She barely remembered any of the events that had immediately followed the Occlumency lesson. Had she gotten sick? No, but it had been a near thing. Occlumency Sickness. Brilliant. Maybe she could just vomit on Voldemort and call it a job well done.

She'd left the bookcase open at the bottom of the stairs. Light spilled in, illuminating the bottom few steps. She need only step back into that light to go to her fate. Before the next dawn, she would fail or succeed. Her history would be written. And maybe she'd still be around to write more.

The urgency of the moment weighing upon her, she decided to find Snape and Harry. The sitting room was empty, as was the kitchen. On the kitchen counter, she found a carafe of coffee, a mug, and a plate of toast, all covered by a domed warming charm. Normally dry toast sounded revolting to her, but it seemed just the thing for her hungover stomach. When she reached for a slice, the dome disappeared with a pop and the aroma of coffee and freshly toasted bread filled the kitchen.

She devoured several slices and poured a cup of coffee before she remembered that the study received sound from the kitchen.

"Professor? Are you here?" she called toward the wall.

She felt silly for a moment, yelling at no one and nothing, wondering if she was alone. Dumbledore had probably picked up Harry for the memorial. Ron. The memory skimmed the surface of her mind, leaving only the faintest ripples. Her heart clenched for a moment, but it did not overwhelm her. Time and distance, she thought. People can adapt to anything if survival or apathy are involved. She immediately felt immensely guilty for thinking such things.

Just then a door knob rattled. Someone was in the broom closet. Calm turned to panic. Could it be Lucius again? Where was Snape? She pointed her wand at the door and backed into the sitting room. She was still holding the coffee mug in her other hand. Too late now, she thought, so she took another sip. Best to die awake.

The door sprung open and Snape stepped out, pausing only to glance into the sitting room.

"Ah, good," he said. He grabbed a mug from a cupboard, poured a cup, and joined her in the living area.

"Are you going to use that?" he asked, motioning toward her still-poised wand.

"Oh," she said as she pocketed it. "I thought you might be someone else."

"Understandable," he said as he sat in the armchair.

She followed his lead and sat across from him, the mug held tight with both hands. And she waited. She needed to know the agenda, where they were going to go from here. She was completely at his mercy. She needed a timeline, dammit, and there he sat, staring at his coffee.

An awkward silence hung in the air while he studied his cup and she studied him. She grew increasingly anxious about why. Was she supposed to say something? Had something else happened?

Another sip of coffee. Another minute passed. The silence was an overfilled balloon about to burst.

Unable to stand it any longer, Hermione all but shouted, "My face. That's odd, isn't it?"

While she regretted the choice of words, she was still a little groggy and at least someone had said something.

He smirked at his cup. "Yes." He paused and her internal voice screamed inside her head. Finally, he continued, "Backfire. Double casting of healing spells."

"Oh," she said as she considered his terse explanation. "That does explain it. Did you...?" She pointed in his direction.

"Yes," he replied. "The effects are temporary." He shifted his eyes to her face. "The color is already fading."

"Oh," she said again. "Good." She nodded, ticking through her mental checklist of topics. "And Harry?"

Snape nodded. "I delivered him to Albus." He seemed to consider his next words carefully. "We have much to do and much to discuss." He refocused on his cup and, quite infuriatingly, did not commence with the discussion.

She waited a few beats before she prompted him, somewhat impatiently. "And?"

He sighed and proceeded to recount much of what had transpired while she'd rested.

Snape had slept for one glorious, uninterrupted hour that had felt like about five minutes. When the potion wore off, he awoke like clockwork and felt moderately less terrible. Starving, he commenced with preparing breakfast. Potter snuck into the kitchen just as Snape finished making toast.

"Morning," the boy muttered.

Snape nodded.

"So what's the plan?" Harry inquired as he reached for a piece of toast.

Snape slapped his hand away. "I will take you to Albus and he will convey you to the memorial as previously arranged."

The boy baulked. "Can't I stay here until it's time to leave?"

"No," Snape replied coolly. "The situation has become more complicated. We must operate on a very short timeline and I believe she will be more successful without additional distractions."

"I won't distract her," the boy argued.

Snape sneered. "Your presence alone distracts her." He changed tack before an argument ensued. "She must focus. The best way for you to help her right now is to stay out of her way."

Although he appeared unconvinced, the boy relented. "Fine. When do we leave?"

"Are you ready now?" Snape motioned toward the closet.

Harry glanced at the girl sleeping on the sofa. "I'll go say goodbye?"

"I trust you saw the sign," Snape said. "Assuming of course you can read."

"Oh." Harry stared at Hermione, his emotions plain. He was afraid for her. Very afraid.

"Yes," Snape chided. "Let her sleep and she might live to tolerate you another day."

Snape put a stasis charm on his breakfast before he stepped into the closet with Potter and Apperated to a concealed corner outside the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade.

Albus spent most of his time those days in a magically enlarged room in the basement of his brother's establishment in Hogsmeade. The location gave Albus near instant access to Hogwarts, should he need to defend it. Complicating things, Aberforth was not aware of the arrangement or of his brother's continued existence so strict care had to be taken when coming and going. Snape and Harry disillusioned themselves and Snape instructed the boy to follow close behind as they snuck past several patrons and down the damp concrete steps.

Albus had enchanted his basement room with false windows that showed what the weather was actually like outside. It was also how he'd known they were coming since he saw them arrive outside.

It was a clear day so the room glowed with warm morning sun. The simple room consisted of a writing desk in one corner, a single bed in the other, and a pair of wing-backed chairs that flanked a fireplace. Albus sat in one of those chairs with a cup of tea while Faux the Phoenix snoozed on a perch behind him.

"Come in, come in," Dumbledore coaxed without getting up. "Make yourselves at home." He poured two more cups and motioned for them each to have one. Snape claimed his and the matching chair across from Albus. Potter greeted Albus quickly and took his tea to the writing desk across the room.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus asked. "I expected to visit you later today. Has something changed?"

Snape gave him a somewhat sanitized version of the previous day's events, including the fact that Voldemort planned to award the girl to Snape once he had finished with her. Dumbledore listened closely and offered no interruption while Potter looked positively enraged as he shifted restlessly in his chair, but he somehow managed not to interrupt either.

When Snape finished, Albus nodded. "That is quite a predicament." He seemed pensive. "How can you be sure Voldemort will accept these false memories?"

"I am not sure about anything," Snape conceded. "My only hope is that a wave of False Memories followed by a blank slate will make him think he has succeeded long enough for me to distract him with praise or flattery. That often works. If she is even moderately successful and he thinks her a zombie, I can pretend to be eager to take her home."

"Ugh," Harry added.

Snape ignored him and continued. "And you are correct. This plan is fraught with risk. Voldemort may see the memories as false and destroy her mind instead of absorbing it. She may succeed at fooling him and he might kill her anyhow. He is not known for his predictability or dedication to his promises."

Dumbledore nodded again, considering. "This is dangerous. The opportunities for failure are many and could result in several very unsatisfactory outcomes." He set Snape with a surprisingly hard stare. "Do you have an alternate plan? Anything?

"What do you suggest?" Snape muttered, immediately defensive. "What other options are there?" He struggled to maintain his temper. "I cannot take her place. You cannot take her place. She has to appear before the Dark Lord, unless of course he dies first. Shall we pray for an aneurysm?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not mean to discourage you," he said, his tone apologetic. "I only wish to provide perspective. Play Devil's Advocate, if you will."

So Snape reviewed the situation again and again. What Voldemort expected. What Hermione was capable of. What Snape could influence from the sidelines based on various scenarios. Again and again they reached the same conclusion. This was a bad plan but it was likely the only plan that had any chance at success.

"Tell me again how you will proceed with training?" Dumbledore asked for the fourth time.

Snape glanced at his pocket watch. Half past seven. Time was literally ticking away.

"Damn it!" Harry exclaimed, startling both Albus and Snape. "That's it! What if we give him what he really wants?"

Snape had all but forgotten the boy was there. He had been silent throughout the discussion, and he clearly hadn't been listening. "What ridiculous plan are you suggesting, Potter? That I give you to him instead?"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed again, this time jumping to his feet. "Why not?"

Albus looked troubled. "Harry, yes. If you face Voldemort and win, we all win. But if you lose, we risk losing you-the vehicle of the prophecy-and we risk losing our spy." He nodded toward Snape. "That intelligence position is far too valuable to risk-"

"More valuable than her life?" Harry interjected, his voice rough but his eyes clear.

Albus sobered. "You would die for her, and she for you. That dedication to a friend is not only commendable, it is priceless." His tone was very serious now. "But Harry, so many have already been lost. So many years have been invested. We must plan carefully so that we make absolutely sure that the sacrifices made by so many have not been made in vain."

Harry considered all this for a moment, his brow knit. He ran his hand through his hair. "Then have her do it," he said, resolute. "Have her show Voldemort what he wants to see."

Snape thought he knew where Potter was headed and, quite frankly, he was annoyed that he hadn't thought of it first. "Go on."

Potter looked surprised, but continued. "You said he wants her memories about me, right? Maybe where I'm hiding or what my plans are." He paced restlessly back and forth as he spoke. "Then have her show him where to find me. Say after the memorial that I'll be-I don't know-somewhere. That I'll be unguarded and alone. Vulnerable."

Dumbledore seemed intrigued. "I ask again, for the sake of argument, what is to stop Voldemort from absorbing the rest of her mind?"

"Because he's obsessed with me!" Potter exclaimed.

Snape picked up the train of thought. "Because he will have a limited window of opportunity. The memory must be of Potter alone and it must be tonight. There must be no time for Voldemort to complete the process."

Potter nodded enthusiastically.

"This plan still has its share of risks," Dumbledore outlined. "Hermione must learn Variable Memory well enough to present a believable False Memory which, I admit, would be easier than manufacturing a lifetime's worth. And if he takes the bait, what then?"

Harry sobered. "I fight him," he said flatly. "I finish this once and for all." He looked to Snape. "If the timeline is slim enough, do you think Voldemort would summon his army?"

Snape considered for a moment. "Possibly not. That would require coordination, and at least basic communication to avoid chaos." He ran scenarios through his mind again. "No, I don't think the army will be a problem. I could also manipulate the situation to goad Voldemort in your direction."

Albus nodded. "Do you really think you can do this, Harry?"

"Yes." He stood stoic. The nervous energy had drained out of him, leaving behind only resolve.

Albus nodded. "Do you really think you can do this, Severus?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, yes." He glanced toward the boy. "Potter had a good idea."

Albus sighed. "It's settled then. Harry, go upstairs and ask Aberforth to make you something to eat. We'll discuss the finer details when you return."

Potter disappeared up the stairs. Snape recognized the tactic. Albus wanted to speak privately.

"Aberforth knows?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Albus said. "One of his goats wandered down here and through all of my spells. Silly thing was napping in my bed when Aberforth used a locating spell. Luckily, he was pleased that I was still alive. Small miracles." Albus seamlessly switched topics. "Harry is risking quite a lot, but I must admit that taking the fight to Voldemort and catching him off guard was always our original plan. It still stands a chance of working."

Snape waited for the real subject to rise to the top. "Where do you propose we meet?" Snape asked.

"Hogwarts," Albus stated, matter-of-fact. "If we say that Harry plans to stay behind to reminisce, there are any number of remote areas in the Forbidden Forest where we could keep the confrontation contained."

"Minerva could seal the castle," Snape added. "Perhaps the Quidditch Pitch?"

Albus shook his head. "Too many opportunities for concealment." He thought for a moment. "The Whomping Willow?"

Snape nodded, knowing full well that Albus still hadn't revealed the real reason for this private conversation. "There is sentimental value, and the area is open, far from the village and far enough from the school proper. I'll ask Miss Granger to set the time roughly thirty minutes from when Voldemort checks her memory. That should provide enough time for Voldemort to take advantage and attack,but not so much time that he can muster the Death Eaters." Snape laughed mirthlessly. "And Potter? How will he handle his part of this doomed evening?"

Albus somehow grew even more serious. "He will do the best that he can. I have a few thoughts. It is perhaps best that you and Miss Granger are not aware in case you are compromised."

Snape nodded slowly, anxious to know where Albus might steer the conversation.

"We agree then." Albus sighed and waited a couple of beats before asking, "How are you holding up?"

There it was. Their acquaintance had grown into friendship over the years but there had always been and would always be a divide. He knew the absolute truth. Albus used him. Snape was a weapon that Albus wielded as carefully and as accurately as he thought he could. One cannot be close friends with a sword because you must sharpen it from time to time.

"I survive," Snape replied, knowing it insufficient.

Albus looked pensieve. "Your name will be cleared soon."

Snape shook his head and muttered, "I care very little what people think when they hear my name." Albus could not possibly be trying to have this conversation today of all days.

Visibly concerned, Albus continued, "You have friends, Severus. People who care about you. There are many who will surely repair their friendships once they know the truth."

Snape recognized the hope and the fear in the man's eyes. Snape wished he could hate him for it.

"You have no idea the rewards and recognition that await you on the other side of this fight," Albus said. "You can resume your life."

Snape stared back, almost at a loss for words. "What life?" He paused to tamp down the fit of pique rising within, but it was no use. "I have given my entire adult life to this fight. I have strangled my memories until sometimes even I am unsure what is real. That is what all this has made me." He gestured to the world above him. "Inhuman. Angry. And so very, very tired." He paused to take a deep breath and powered through. "Once this is done-once you return to public life-I am done. With all of it. And you know it."

Sympathy and pain shown in the old wizard's eyes. Albus started and stopped a sentence several times before he finally said, "I am sorry that you have had to give up so much, but I am grateful to you for what you have accomplished. I could not have asked for a more loyal or dedicated ally. "

Snape huffed out a breath. "Oh yes, you probably could have."

Albus smiled, but it was strained. "We will talk more. Later."

Snape nodded. "I really should be going."

They said their goodbyes. Snape placed a quick Disillusionment spell on himself to get him out of the building and to a safe Apparition point that took him back to his house.

There was still much to do. How would Potter defeat the Dark Lord? That was for Dumbledore to figure out. Snape had his work cut out for him, as did the girl. But she had a choice to make first. He would at least give her that.

And what if the boy won, what would Snape do after? Who would he possibly be? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he stood in the closet with his hand on the knob for a full minute before he turned it.

And now, having recounted the details-save for his parting salvo to his long-time handler-Snape waited for his student to respond.

She was afraid. She was worried. She was oh so very tired. But somewhere in the plan she'd found a seed of hope. It was small, and it needed a lot of water, but it existed nonetheless.

Her eyes were a little too bright as she smiled. "I can do that," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "One memory I can do."

"You have yet to learn how to block," Snape cautioned. "Let alone project."

She smiled wide. "I don't care what it takes," she said, breathless. "I'll do whatever it takes at this point. Harry is counting on me. Besides, it's not like I have a choice."

"That's where you are wrong," Snape said as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes very steadily on hers. "You always have a choice. Sometimes choice is the only power anyone has. Are you absolutely sure that you want to do this?"

"Of course I'm sure," she said, thoroughly confused. "What are you saying, that I can decide I don't want to go to Voldemort today and just...not go?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "We can follow through with the plan exactly as outlined. Or we don't." He stood and paced a few steps away, turning his back to her. A moment passed before he said softly, "We could go."

Hermione wasn't sure she'd heard him. She studied his silhouette for a moment but he neither moved nor spoke again. He was making her skittish. "Are you suggesting that we hide? That we-what-abandon Harry and Dumbledore and everyone else who is depending on us?"

"No," Snape sighed and turned to face her, his face as clear as she'd ever seen. He seemed resigned and calm, and Hermione was pretty sure he was on some kind of drugs. "Whatever you do, I need you to know that you have a choice. Whether you choose to keep fighting or you choose not to keep fighting, I will help you." He abruptly walked back, sat back down and leaned toward her. His voice tense and his brow drawn, he continued, "Whatever action you take will have consequences. I cannot save you or the world from those. But what I can promise is that whatever you decide, I will honor it. Fight or flee, but do so of your own volition."

Hermione considered his words for a moment. The prospect of running tempted her more than she cared to admit, as much as she knew she'd never follow through on the fantasy. Over the years she'd become enmeshed with the fight against Voldemort. She had been involved, then obligated, then compelled. Of late she'd felt trapped. She resented every opportunity the war had taken from her, every friend it had stolen from her. And she desperately wanted to deliver some payback.

She also believed that Snape knew full well what she would decide, much like offering someone the last slice of pizza because you know they will decline. It was the thought that counted. The fact that he'd been thoughtful enough to ask or offer his aid spoke volumes about the man she'd thought she knew.

"You would have done that for me?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

"Yes," he replied softly. His eyes shifted to the floor, staring hard. He still wore a mask of impassivity, but his breathing belied some troubling emotion beneath.

"Wouldn't that have been a treat." She watched him closely to gauge his reaction. "You. Me. Some Siberian village somewhere. A one-room cottage. No electricity. Our lives hanging in the balance."

He glanced up, his eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't be all that different, then."

"Maybe we'd have a goat." She smiled a bit. "We could make brooms."

Straight-faced, he asked, "Why brooms?"

She shrugged. "Maybe we sell them."

"To pay for the goat," he reasoned.

"These are bespoke racing brooms," she explained, as though that were obvious. "We'll be able to afford more than the goat."

He shook his head and smirked ever so slightly. "Ah, psychosis has set in. What a shame."

Hermione took a deep breath and glanced at her watch. The second hand kept ticking on like it didn't care that she had her head in a guillotine. Even if it were there by choice. Urgency spurring her on, she sprung to her feet.

"Okay then," she said, her voice a bit shrill. "Who's ready to teach me some Occlumency?"