A/N: I will be updating this, though it will be sporadic. The Five Winters is still my priority. However, once that is complete, updates to this story will become more regular.

Thank you for the great reviews last chapter. Please, keep them up. They encourage me to write. I don't write automatically- I'm not a machine. It DOES take inspiration and motivation to keep them coming out.

Thanks to April93 for her awesome beta-ing skills. =) Seriously, she is absolutely amazing. Please give her a round of well-deserved applause.

Please review!

Snape arrived long after the teahouse was closed the next night, but Mother did, of course, let him in to see Hermione. You simply didn't say no to the Lord of Britain, no matter how tough or unyielding you were to his officers.

When Hermione saw him, having rushed to make herself presentable after being given a three-minute warning from a wide-awake Mitsuki, he was looking haggard and tired. He closed the door behind him, locked it, and then tugged off his robe and tossed it aside, joined shortly by his boots.

"I would have stopped by earlier," he said, kneeling on the floor to retrieve a book from the pocket of his robes, "but as you can probably guess, I've had a rather rough day, and much of my time was taken up dealing with fools."

Hermione took the book from him and flipped it open. "This couldn't have waited until morning, your majesty?"

Snape scowled blackly at her, his temper exacerbated by his apparent crankiness. "Don't test my patience, Sakura. I am in no mood to deal with your smart mouth."

"Alright," she said, setting the book down on the desk and tugging her hair out of the way. She took a moment to put it up in a messy ponytail to keep it out of her face. "What are we working on?"

"Jigoku Ni Hibike."

"Pardon?" Hermione said, blinking at the unfamiliar name.

"It's a poison that was used during the Edo period of Japan and was originally developed by Satomi Kurogane, a pompous popinjay who insisted on giving all of his discoveries poetically appropriate names," Snape replied sourly.

"So if you already know how to make it, then why—?"

"Because we are going to be altering it," he snapped, having just the courtesy to leave off the very apparent you dunderhead tacked to the end of that statement. "It is a painful and appropriately named poison; however, I need it to force the drinker to reveal his greatest secrets before he dies." Hermione shuddered inwardly at this; who was going to be his next unfortunate victim? "Combining Veritaserum and other poisons rarely work or not strongly enough." He paused to let this sink in.

"The poison also needs to have identifiable Japanese origins if I am to pull this off," he continued smoothly. "I have analyzed the components of Veritaserum and several prominent poisons, and the Jigoku is the one most likely to be sufficiently compatible for my needs."

Hermione forced herself not to swallow her apprehension, instead keeping it trapped in tension in her throat as she carefully formed her next words;

"If you don't mind my asking," she said, "who is this particular concoction for?"

Snape gave her a nasty look, his face contorting into a half-sneer and half-snarl as his pupils dilated, making the white scar tissue on his left eye even more apparent.

"You'll find out eventually."

The words hung in the air like a horrible promise.

~o~O~o~

Hermione got very little sleep that night. She counted it fortunate that she no longer had to be up early to take care of things before the customers arrived, for if that were so, she would surely drop dead by tomorrow morning at the prospect of opening the doors of the teahouse to the men who would surely be wanting their enchanting and sultry company.

Snape laid out a list of instructions for brewing Veritaserum and the Jigoku and ordered Hermione to begin making a list of which ingredients would most likely cause a volatile reaction. It was grunt work, really, though not the kind of work he would ever have entrusted to students. While she figured out what combinations and compounds would cause a direct mix of the potion to either become a 'glob of useless muck' (his words, not hers), or cause an explosion along the proportions of Neville Longbottom's, he was analyzing what would neutralize such reactions.

He stayed until well past midnight, when Hermione was almost crying for sleep. Her eyes drifted shut more than once while she stared blearily at the names and notes laid out in front of her, and at three in the morning, he finally conceded that she needed rest. It was obvious to anyone who looked that he was more exhausted than she was, and perhaps had a splitting headache to boot, and when he stood up to leave, Hermione made one last attempt to make the night end advantageously for her.

"You're tired," she told him, placing a hand on his arm as he prepared to retrieve his cloak. "I don't trust you to Apparate yourself without splinching."

"And this would concern you because…?"

"I'd rather not have to deal with the news that my danna has split himself four pieces to the wind," she remarked dryly, struggling to stay alert.

He paused, and Hermione watched him struggle with a yawn. "Why not tell me where to Apparate you? I can take you home."

"You're in no condition for travel either," he pointed out, narrowing his eyes at her. There was a pause, and then;

"I hope you don't mind sharing a bed." He tossed his robes back down on the floor. "I'll stay the night."

"I don't mind at all."

She did mind, actually. But she reasoned that if she couldn't at least figure out where his secret-kept house was, having him stay with her might make him do it more often when they were working on a project, and leave him open for assassination.

Harry's letter echoed in her head persistently.

What if you tricked him in being away from his contingent of guards and in a vulnerable position for us to storm the teahouse and kill him?

If she could convince him to do it often, Harry's plan could very well work. He would be tired, disoriented, unprotected, and completely at their collective mercy.

They wouldn't have to kill him. Perhaps they could capture and try him.

No… Hermione thought, looking down at the man who was currently making himself comfortable on his tiny half of her bed, which was really made for one person and possibly a second, if they were laying on top of each other. I couldn't do that to him. Either I kill him or we simply depose him—but I'm not sending him to Azkaban.

Shrugging off her tokuemon, leaving her in nothing but a bra and pants—it was too warm to go to sleep in her robe, but she wasn't going au natural as she normally did— she got into bed, her thoughts continuing along a similar vein. He was a nasty piece of work, but she could also see a side of him that made her feel some small bit of pity and sympathy, and there was no denying she enjoyed her verbal fencing with him. She wanted him rid of power, but she didn't want to see him rot in Azkaban; even without the Dementors, she had no doubt they would refuse to kill him, preferring a life sentence over giving him the peace of death.

She would miss him when he was gone.

But she wasn't going to prolong his agony for a lifetime.

One way or another, there would be no trial for Severus Snape.

~o~O~o~

Hermione was awoken by the sensation of hitting something bodily hard. Opening her eyes, she realized she'd fallen off the bed and hit the floor. Stiffling a groan, and grateful she'd woken up without a sore neck, she sat up and rubbed the back of her head, alleviating the soreness.

She looked over at where Snape was sleeping.

And realized that he was wide awake.

Hermione stared at him for a split second.

"Good morning," she offered.

He glared at her.

"I don't appreciate waking up on the floor," she continued blandly, getting to her feet and brushing her pants off.

"I don't appreciate waking up with the sensation that someone is trying to strangle me," Snape remarked.

"It's a small bed," Hermione snorted, standing over him, her hands placed on her hips. "I don't know if you ever learned the concept of sharing—"

"I don't suppose you've ever learned the concept of personal space?" he countered.

Hermione sniffed, and then gave a wicked smile before hastily covering it with a frosty look. "If that's the case, then perhaps I should just give you three feet of space, never to invade."

"That would be preferable."

"That also means no kisses," she added, with a sultry smile. "And no coping feels."

She watched the gears clicking wildly in his brain, his eyes widening expressively at such a statement. He gazed at her considering this for a moment, before declaring solemnly, "I take it back."

Hermione turned away, crossing her arms over her chest as she stalked over to the desk—as though she were going to review last night's progress—though she did stand with her back purposely and provocatively displayed toward him, sending a very clear signal that he was going to have to work for it.

Of course, he could simply take what he wanted the way he'd taken a kiss from her, but she hoped he had learned his lesson the first time around.

She heard a muttered huff that sounded like, "Women!" before she heard the rustle of the bedcovers being pulled back as Snape got out of bed. She squeaked in exagerated surprise as pale arms—lacking the Dark Mark—wrapped themselves insistently around her waist, pulling her up against him.

The first thing she could think of was shock; this was a man who abhorred body contact on principal, particularly given his paranoia of assassination. She hadn't expected something this drastic. Secondly, while one hand was rubbing circles over her stomach, the other was moving insistently lower under the waistband of her pants, tugging the crotch of her underwear aside, and had insinuated itself between her legs. An incredibly, unpredictably bold move on his part.

She froze, though she forced her body to relax as she quickly thought this through; he would notice the slightest movements on her part. This was certainly breaking the house rule she'd been training him by that stated that if he tried to take something from her without asking, she would do her best to make what might have been a very pleasurable experience thoroughly unrewarding. However, if she gave in now, giving him some visible rein might lower his inhibition around her further, which was exactly what she needed if she was to make this work—

"Nothing to say, Sakura?" She felt his breath on her neck, her back pressed against his belly, and—yes—his morning erection pressed between her buttocks. So he was human, then, if he got this randy in the morning and hadn't even needed a cup of coffee to jump-start him. She'd had her doubts.

Her mind came to a quick decision.

If she pulled away now, he was certainly unlikely to try again any time soon. As much as most of the men Hermione had dealt with enjoyed the chase of a hard-to-get teahouse girl, Snape worked on a different track, and would likely withdraw and become sullen. While a dark and brooding Snape was admittedly attractive on some level, it should not be encouraged. Particularly not when she was actively trying to seduce him.

And if she pulled away and he did try again, he could do so with more force than he was doing now, and she would much rather give him his way while he was in a good mood. It was a matter of personal safety and convenience. Hermione had experience with men who didn't like it when their toys tried to run away, and though she'd hexed (and Obliviated them) without a second thought, there was no way in hell that would go over well with her danna.

It was time to respond. She ground herself against his hand, tilting her head up to look at him, putting on her most mischievous, sultry smile. A practiced smile that was supposed to say several things, though perhaps not meant to be translated as bluntly: Look at me. Aren't I appealing? Grinding back against him, her smile quirked in a manner that was most definitely inviting. Let's play, shall we?

His fingers clamped themselves over her clit and began twisting it in time with Hermione's pleasure-driven grinding. "I apologize for shoving you off the bed while you were asleep and apparently did not realize you were invading my personal space."

"You'll have to try harder than that," Hermione responded, her voice hitching when he gave her sensitive nub a particularly hard—and actually painful— pinch. "Lose the 'personal space' dogma—you've already invaded mine by being here."

She could practically hear the exasperation in his voice. "I apologize for shoving you off the bed when I made the mistake of not recognizing the distinctly female need to cling and strangle all that is within reach."

Hermione subdued a strangled groan, instead masking it as a surprised gasp, when he stuck a finger in her while still playing with her clit with a painful—but still somewhat pleasurable—amount of force. She managed to get out the words, "Try again," in an admirably steady and appropriately haughty tone.

He growled in frustration at her stubbornness. "I apologize for the misunderstanding."

"And the rudeness," Hermione countered.

She could practically hear the grimace in his voice. "Yes."

"Very well." She uncrossed her arms, bringing one hand to drift behind her where it could press against the front of his pants, hopefully to entice him further. "Does that work for you, then?"

Expecting him to finish her off—or at least try—she was surprised, and admittedly disappointed in the most extreme and neediest sense of the word when he withdrew his hand, ignoring her question, and holding it up to his face for inspection. He looked at it with an almost disdainful sneer, and then wandlessly Vanished the juices clinging to his fingers.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at this odd behavior, but she said nothing.

"Good. Now get dressed." He gestured at the desk. "I will be leaving all of the research material here for now—in the meantime, I have somewhere I need to be." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't lose it."

Hermione could have rolled her eyes at this statement, but instead shifted uncomfortably where she stood, nodding dutifully in understanding. "Will you be back later?"

"Yes."

"Will you be staying the night?" Hermione made it very clear to him that this was a loaded question.

He stared at her dispassionately for a moment. "Perhaps."

And Hermione watched him leave, standing with a mixture of bafflement and sexual frustration at his back.

Hermione felt as though she'd been manipulated somehow. And perhaps, in a way, she had and was too Gryffindor to recognize it.

What an infuriating man!

~o~O~o~

It was a mark of how good of a researcher Hermione was that by the time Snape returned, just a little before they were due to close shop for the night, that she had not only analyzed the ingredients that would meet each other in a headlock, but had also gone through a list of basic ingredients that would likely neutralize such a reaction.

"Beetle carapace will likely melt and coat most of the volatile ingredients in a protective layer until they're ready to be joined or nullified," Hermione told him that evening as she presented her findings to him. "We just need to figure out when to add it, how many, and how much. We could of course, try mixing the beetle carapace with the Veritaserum itself and then pour in a few drops to your Jigoku Ni Hibike, but I'm not certain that would work either. You'd need to test it out in your lab properly."

He took the notes from her, perusing them. There was a long moment of silence before he pocketed them.

Hermione couldn't help feeling like a student again, back in his classroom, preparing to turn in homework that she knew she wouldn't get the credit she deserved on it. She frowned.

"Is everything alright?"

"What astounds me," Snape said, crossing his arms, "is how you managed to come up with a viable solution in twelve hours when it would have possibly taken me weeks."

"I had a lot of time on my hands, as you can see."

"That's not it." He was looking at her with those fathomless eyes that carried an odd sort of perplexed curiosity. "I was right when I found you and thought you to be a diamond in a pig trough. An unlikely find."

"I'm shocked—you're actually being quite flattering."

Hermione regretted the words the moment she'd said them, remembering his previous reaction the last time she'd said something similar. But he merely smirked in response. "You were never a Hogwarts student, so I suppose I must forgive you if you don't understand the meaning of the word 'Slytherin.'"

Hermione knew it better than almost anyone, and she smiled indulgently.

"It reminds me of something distinctly snake-like."

"I always knew you were a bright girl." He moved to take a seat on the edge of her bed.

If he could only say that to the real me.

"How well do you think I would have done in your class?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Outstanding, I suppose," he replied, resting his chin on his hands. "At the very least, an Exceeds Expectation. It's quite a shame that I never got to teach you; you would have done very well." He scrutinized her carefully for a moment. "I would peg you somewhere between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor—rather like myself, I suppose."

This caught Hermione off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I believe I've already explained the concept of Houses and points to you—"

"You did, but you never said you could be in two houses at once," Hermione offered in as naïve a tone as she could manage.

"You can't." He looked at her through slitted eyes. "But the Sorting Hat contemplated putting me into Gryffindor before it ultimately sorted me into Slytherin."

WHAT?

"I see."

"As I said before—it's a shame you didn't attend Hogwarts."

Hermione needed to redirect the conversation; it was getting too close to asking about her history. And minute now, he could open that can of worms.

"Who was your best student?" she asked. "Academically speaking, of course."

Snape's face, predictably, twisted into a sneer. "Hermione Granger. She was quite possibly the most engaged, promising student I had in the twenty years that I taught, but she couldn't do much more than regurgitate the things she read from the textbook word-for-word." He closed his eyes. "As much as her intelligence and eidetic memory were admirable qualities, she was a considerable annoyance. I haven't heard a thing about her since the war ended; I suppose she's hiding out with Potter and Weasley, but if my Officers encounter them, she's never with them."

"Perhaps she's terminally ill," Hermione suggested in a hopeful tone.

She watched Snape's face transform into one of dark amusement. "Doubtful. More than likely, she's doing research for them behind the scenes. Potter and Weasley haven't got two collective brain cells to rub together."

He was looking at her carefully.

"Now that I think about it, you two are more alike than I realized," he said. "You could be sisters, if I ever believed she had one. Her hair, however, was a horrendous mess that she never bothered to keep tamed while yours…" he reached out to pluck a lock of hair, holding it between his fingers, "are ringlets. And perhaps a shade or two darker. Besides," he added humorously, "you hardly look like a chipmunk."

Hermione resisted the urge to flush with embarrassment and anger, instead acting as though the praise had gone to her head, presenting it as a blush of pride rather than for what it truly was. He released the curl from between his fingers and it bounced back like a coiled spring.

He spoke;

"I would like to say that if you were my student, you would have ended up in my House," he said conversationally, "but you're too much the fox for that—I'd imagine you'd fit better in Gryffindor. But you would have been the sneakiest of the lot."

"I'm under the impression Potter and his friends got in trouble often," Hermione offered, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Troublemaking does not equate cunning."

"I wasn't suggesting that, given the two are generally mutually exclusive."

"Of course not."

Hermione chose this moment to make a move, wanting to get off the dangerous topic they'd been traversing. She gripped Snape's shoulders, causing him to flinch in surprise for a moment though his face betrayed very little, and swung one leg over his lap.

"You said Gryffindors were bold," she told him, her eyes only inches from his rather startled ones. "I know Slytherins are more your type, but I get the sense you like us just the same."

His eyes narrowed at her, taking the situation in with the contemplative calmness of a general assessing an opponent who has made a very brash move.

"It is virtuous to not like something you cannot have for fear that loving it will cause your downfall," he said.

"I didn't know you were a virtuous man," Hermione murmured.

"I'm not," he responded, pulling her more fully onto his lap, and Hermione felt one hand come around behind her back and slide down just above her waist. He was testing her, knowing that she might very well be testing him. "But I've learned painful lessons in the past."

"Don't tell me you fell in love with a Gryffindor already!" Hermione chided.

His face immediately soured, and his hand withdrew. "Yes."

"Who?" Hermione asked, infusing her voice with curiosity though she knew that she was now traversing dangerous territory. But a spy took risks. And perhaps this Gryffindor was still his weakness, and could be exploited—

His expression twisted almost painfully, but he answered nevertheless.

"Lily Evans."

It took a full minute for the name to sink in. Had Hermione not been a practiced Occlumens and extraordinarily good at masking her expression, her jaw might have unhinged itself and hit the floor with a comical thud, such was the level of her shock. Instead, she forced herself to merely look at him with a hint of passive curiosity.

"Harry Potter's mum?"

His face twisted into a sneer.

"Yes."

That clinched it. Hermione's lift had just turned upside-down.

"But you called her a Mudblood," she said, realizing too late that he would want to know precisely where she'd learned that. She paused for a moment to let it sink in rather than try to rectify it; if she did, he would become suspicious.

His eyes, as predicted, narrowed dangerously. "And where did you hear that?"

Hermione chose her victim.

"Oh, your Officer—Mulciber had too much wine and it loosened his tongue," she replied carelessly, apparently more focused on stroking his hair than worrying that she'd just dug a hole for herself. "He was gossiping about it with Mitsuki. I overheard."

Snape relaxed marginally, and Hermione suspected that Mulciber would be in trouble now. She'd picked him for several reasons. Mulciber had drunk a good bit of wine back in January, and there was no way he would remember what he'd said some several months later. Secondly, he had been a student at Hogwarts at the same time as Snape and would therefore know about the incident in question, having almost certainly witnessed it, if not at least heard the gossip that must have been circulated through the school. And fourth—he was her second prime target, aside from Snape. Macnair was currently at the top, but as she couldn't see a killshot opening with him as she did with Mulciber, she was going with the safer and more certain choice.

She hoped he met the same fate as Dolohov. What irony it would be, if Snape took out his own Officers.

She brushed some locks of hair out of his face.

"But you called her a Mudblood," she repeated, caressing his cheek in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "Didn't you?"

His face immediately soured again, and he shifted for a moment, reaching over for his wand—which he'd begun keeping on the bookridden bedside table during his visits—and Hermione sat there, stunned, when she found his wand pointing directly between her eyes. Had she pushed him too far?

"I should have done this months ago," he growled.

He's going to kill me.

Don't move, She told herself. Keep looking surprised.

"Tell me, do you gossip about what we do with your sisters?"

"No," Hermione responded honestly. For the first time, she allowed herself to swallow in fear. "Everything here is confidential—though I did tell Mitsuki about the money you gave me," she added, slowly pulling her hand away from his face. "I've not breathed a word about anything you've said or done while with me."

He gave his wand a lazy flick, and—ignoring the instinct to push him away or try to wrap her hands around his throat—Hermione shut her eyes tightly against what she predicted would be a flash of green light. She half believed he wasn't going to kill her, and half thought she was actually about to die—

A tingle of magic washed over her, wrapping itself around her tongue, constricting it like a snake around a struggling mouse, and then she felt it slide down her throat, wrapping itself around her chest as though it might strangle her at any moment. And then the sensation vanished, and Hermione opened her eyes.

"What…?"

His face was impassive. "I've spelled you to silence."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, absorbing what he'd just said, before angrily pushing herself off of him, outraged, yanking his hand away from her back. "I've never spoken a word about you to anyone—I've not gossiped nor speculated about you with any of them—I've done nothing to earn your suspicion!"

He stood up, sneering at her. "As I said, I forgot to do this months ago."

"Why?" Hermione snapped. "Are you so paranoid that you think everyone's out to get you?"

Snape's temper flared up, and for a moment, Hermione though she'd pushed him too far, but then he seemed to defuse.

"Sakura," he said, "the fact is that most people are out to get me. Even my men, who I had to drag an Unbreakable Vow from—they hate me, and as you pointed out, they do talk."

"Then spell them to silence!"

"I'll have to now!" He looked agitated. "But I have to cover every leak—and you're a significant threat."

Hermione swallowed angrily.

"If I'm a threat," she bit out, "then why do you keep me around?"

He observed her passively.

"Because you're not as much of a threat as the rest of them," he snapped.

Hermione felt as if they were going in circles, and it was giving her a headache. Grabbing the back of her chair, she pulled it out and sat facing away from him, arms crossed, expression stony. Angry tears welled up behind her eyes, but she held them back, praying that they would evaporate on their own. Now she wouldn't be able to write to Harry and Ron about Snape. She could no longer give information. She was next to useless.

"Fine," she said, with barely concealed rage. She swallowed again, and mentally marked it as the second time she had displayed weakness today. "You have your reasons. There's no logic in you lifting it. If I'm not naturally inclined to talk about you, I shouldn't have to worry about the spell affecting me. And there's absolutely nothing—nothing—I can do to stop you from taking what you want, because for all intents and purposes, you own me. I am now no better than a house elf." She turned to look at him, and added stonily, "Any other precautions you would like to take, Snape?"

He gazed at her, lip curling into a sneer, and turned away.

"Don't compare yourself to a house elf."

"Fine," she repeated blankly, her mind still whirling around the fact that she was now useless as an informant. "Fine."

She felt his hand come to a rest on her shoulder.

"Don't take it personally."

"I won't."

There was a moment of silence, and Hermione could practically hear the clicking of gears in his head. He had underestimated her reaction to his precautionary measures—he had probably thought she would dismiss or accept it, as she had done with everything else. He clearly hadn't expected it to do this much damage to their relationship, business or otherwise. He was no longer thinking suspiciously as to why she was reacting so badly, but was now clearly trying to think about how to rectify the situation.

The silence stretched miserably, and then Hermione felt Snape's hand caress her chin before taking firm hold of it—Hermione dumbly realized that he had a rather annoying habit of grabbing her by the jaw, though he was being quite gentle now—and tilted her head so that she was forced to look at him.

"James Potter had hung me upside down and was hexing me," he told her. "For fun. Lily stopped him."

Hermione's attention was fully fixed on him now, and he continued, "Things might have stopped there if he hadn't been goading her. He liked her, but she wanted nothing to do with him, the bully that he was. Things deteriorated after that. He was torturing me in front of the students, and I was humiliated. I told her I didn't need help from a Mudblood like her—I didn't mean to say the words. Seven years of friendship, and she wouldn't forgive me for that one slip."

Angry and miserable as she was, Hermione could not help her morbid fascination with what he'd just told her. "What happened after that?"

Snape winced painfully. "He took off my pants in front of half the school."

Oh, my.

"I'm surprised your students never found out."

His face transformed into a snarl. "Potter did, when I was teaching him Occlumency. I threw him out."

Another mystery explained.

"Now you see why I'm spelling you to silence?"

"With such damning information as the fact that James Potter took off your pants in front of the girl you liked?" Hermione's mask had finally pasted itself back together, and she resumed her sultry, teasing act, though her heart felt as though it had sunk through the floor. "Such ruinous information—it would surely be the end of you if the world knew."

"Not only that." Snape was kneeling next to her chair, one arm draped across her lap. "I unwittingly gave the Dark Lord the information he needed to destroy her, and in penance, spent twenty years of my life looking after her brat with the intent of helping him defeat the Dark Lord."

"You were going to help him destroy You-Know-Who?"

"I changed my mind after I discovered what the deranged bastard had in mind for me," he growled. "Dumbledore intended that I die by Potter's hand so that he could become master of the Elder Wand." He closed his eyes. "Not that it would have worked—at the time, killing me would not have given him mastery over any wand except my own. Whether or not Dumbledore's plan went as intended, he was going to use me to destroy my master and then have me destroyed by the same tool he'd had me protect since the boy arrived at Hogwarts."

She was being given a veritable mine of information that she could no longer use. The irony of it was going to kill her soon.

"So you decided to change the plans a bit?"

"I knew how the Dark Lord had to be defeated," he admitted. "I was planning on turning in the Death Eaters to ensure that there would be sufficient evidence that I was planning to help the Order from the start—I wasn't certain that simply their word would be enough." He stood up. "Potter changed everything. If it weren't for him, I might be living a peaceful existence on some remote island doing private Potions research. As it is, I am still attempting to keep this country running without it falling into a complete collapse. We can't afford another civil war."

Hermione stared at him. He gave her a wry, if somewhat bitter, smile.

"I helped create the mess with the Dark Lord," he said, "If I had not joined him, created the potions he needed to assist in making Horcrxues, given him the Prophecy, he may very well have been destroyed long before now. Perhaps I've created an even larger mess. But I feel inclined to clean it up before I settle on some remote island."

Hermione's mouth opened in an 'oh' of surprise. "How are you going to do that?"

"Clean up the economy," he said, shrugging his robes on. He proceeded to begin buttoning them up. "Use the Death Eaters under my command as bodyguards and then when I'm ready to take off and retire, kill them.

"And how are you going to retire without throwing the entire country into chaos?"

"Give it to Kingsley Shacklebolt," he replied. "I'll trick the Order into attempting an attack—make them think my defences are failing. They'll jump at the chance to take me out, and I can flee knowing the Order will take over. Kingsley is the obvious choice."

Hermione stared at him, unable to work her jaw properly.

He was looking at her now.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said.

Hermione nodded.

"O-of course."

He smiled wryly at her.

"Don't think about it too much. You can't tell anyone."

For the third time, Hermione swallowed.

That was the problem. She couldn't tell the Order now. Her tongue was tied by his spell.

But now she had a little more than an inkling that they had been mistaken about Snape's allegiances.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Severus."