Hello lovely readers! I haven't done this for such a long time and I'm a bit rusty! I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but please leave reviews if you would like to see more : )

Chapter One

These days the solid darkness of a late Friday night and early Saturday morning always found Hermione awake, wand drawn and waiting. It was always the same place, tucked into a cramped space between a group of solid trees and shrubbery at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. This was not a place that was visited by anyone but herself and it was hardly the place she wished to spend her nights, but the war had forced her hand.

Muttering quiet expletives that no-one would expect from the studious sixth-year, Hermione swept her wand briskly over the area surrounding her, removing her magical signature from the area. There had to be nothing to sense here just as there was nothing to see due to the powerful disillusionment charm placed over Hermione's body. To anyone else, this was just a cold section of trees against a freezing dark forest. She shivered as she drew her robe closer to her body.

He was late tonight and that was never a good sign. In Hermione's experience, the later he returned, the more worse it was. It was the observation of many nights spent under her clump of trees, so far undiscovered. Hermione laughed quietly to herself: She had better stay undiscovered, or he'd most certainly kill her for this. She huffed a breath into her hands, she'd forgotten her gloves tonight. That was nothing though, nothing compared to the way he staggered through the gates – the cold was nothing compared to the way his robes clung to him, dark with the sweet, coppery smell of blood. No, the cold was nothing.

With that thought, the faint tingle of magic caused the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck to stand on end. Sure enough, the sharp crack of apparition sounded through the air moments later and a bloody figure appeared just outside the Hogwarts gates. The man didn't land on his feet and Hermione knew enough to know that this was a bad sign. For a moment the figure didn't move at all and Hermione feared that she would have to breach the wards and retrieve him herself, but then he stirred, dragging himself wearily along the ground towards the gates. He could hardly even crawl, drawing up on his hands and knees and then falling back to the ground every so often, but Hermione knew it wasn't safe to leave the confines of her hideout while he was conscious. He could never, ever know that she waited here: There was a reason why she removed all traces of her magical signature from where she hid.

It seemed like forever before the dark figure reached the gates and laid a shaking hand on the wrought iron. The gates glowed under his touch and opened just far enough to allow entrance. Hermione watched as he dragged himself just within the boundaries and collapsed once more and this time stilled. She watched with a critical eye for a whole minute, her impeccable self-control put to the test as she resisted the urge to approach him straight away, something she had never needed to do before. He always managed to get to the castle and walk through these gates no matter how badly he was hurt. The smell of blood grew stronger and stronger as she waited, and she fidgeted slightly, knowing that this was bad – worse than she'd seen from him before.

It soon became clear that he wouldn't rise and reluctantly Hermione knew that tonight she would need to act. From her patch of darkness she sent a potent stunner through the air towards him; there was no way she could risk him being conscious for what she needed to do next. In an instant she was at his side, silently and disillusioned, pressing her hand to his pale wrist to find his pulse. For a brief moment she felt nothing and held her breath. Then she felt it; a weak pulse. She would need to work quickly. It was obvious that he had lost a large amount of blood.

Silently Hermione let her wand glide along his body, casting diagnostics. As her wand passed over, it left a glowing blue in the line of his veins. Gods above, he was bleeding everywhere. The glow that indicated his blood flow through his veins had leaked in large patches over his stomach and down lower to areas Hermione didn't even want to think about, showing the tragic types of abuse that he had endured this night. He was bleeding internally so badly that Hermione was forced to double her efforts, frantically casting diagnostics with her wand hand with her other hand resting lightly over the brightest patches, murmuring healing spells to reduce the bleeding.

It was a talent that no-one knew Hermione possessed, an old skill that she had learned from an ancient book. It was a branch of magic largely disused due to the elevated level of elemental magic required, which most witches and wizards had no idea how to harness in modern times. She was grateful for it now, a bitter laugh forming in her mind as she thought of how everyone who knew her scorned her avid reading habits.

The blue of the internal bleeding was receding slowly as Hermione harnessed the power of the earth into her healing spell. Finally, with the internal bleeding stemmed, she passed her wand over his body again, dismayed at the amount of red light that now showed, indicating the damage to his bones. 'At least bones are easy enough,' Hermione thought with a hint of sarcasm, healing each bone systematically before reaching into her robe and drawing out a bundle of potions.

It took four blood replenishing potions, then two potions to heal his organs and one to induce sleep before she was satisfied with his blood levels and was able to lift the stunning spell. One last flick of her wand removed his outer robes so that she could heal his wounds. Placing both of her hands onto his shoulders, she allowed the power of the air to flow through her fingertips and powerfully disillusion him. Finally, she rose from her knees and siphoned the blood from both of their robes, casting cleaning and warming charms over his skin before carefully levitating him and heading for the castle.

Hermione didn't head for the front doors of the castle, but rather around the side of the castle where she had watched Snape enter the castle through a secret passageway every time he returned. She placed both hands lightly against the cold stone and concentrated on communicating with the castle, which was so much more sentient than people realised. 'Open please: Professor Snape's Quarters.'

The cold stone morphed into an archway and Hermione silently thanked the castle with a brush of her hand on her way through, the stone glowing warmly beneath her touch. The wall sealed behind them and she walked into the short hallway that led to Professor Snape's office. As she reached the door, it swung open, the castle disabling the wards as it read Hermione's intentions. Through his office she reached the door to his quarters which yielded easily under her touch.

She spared no glance towards the details of his rooms, unwilling to invade his privacy any more than she had to and carefully positioned her professor onto his bed. One flick of her wand and his robes were neatly folded on the armchair in the corner of the room. Finally allowing herself to breathe, Hermione looked at the figure laying in the bed, pale and motionless.

She had made it. Professor Snape was safe.

...

He awoke with a start the next day, somehow instantly aware that it was later than he normally slept and disoriented at his lack of memory of how he got to bed. There had been a revel hadn't there? He remembered pain, blood and more pain. Yes, there had been a revel, but how had he ended up here? His last memory was of the Hogwarts gates closing behind him and he never forgot anything.

This whole thing stunk of Albus Bloody Dumbledore.

The meddling old fool must have brought him here somehow and he fully intended to give him a piece of his mind. He was fiercely independent. Surely he could have made it here himself without the old codger sticking his nose in places it didn't belong. In any case, it's not like Dumbledore even cared: He had a long history of ignoring what he forced Severus through. The only consolation was the knowledge that his wards would certainly have put a damper on Dumbledore's night. No-one but himself entered these rooms without suffering the consequences.

He rolled over in a swift motion, and then stopped. There was something wrong with this, he thought. Shouldn't he be unable to move? Last night had been particularly bad and he remembered it clearly and winced. He frowned as his mind raced over what could have happened. He should be in pain, even if someone had healed him. No healing spells he'd ever encountered could completely take the ache away, especially the cruciatis curse, which he remembered being under for long enough to incapacitate him for days.

Dumbledore was a powerful wizard with many talents, but none of them lay in healing. Severus knew this personally. One time, Dumbledore had attempted to heal the most minor of his injuries and ended up making it even worse. So who? Who did bloody Dumbledore force to heal his wounds? This had never been part of the deal dammit.

In one more moment he was upright and stalking towards his fireplace with long agitated strides. He threw a pinch of floo powder. "Albus Sodding Dumbledore," he spat venomously into the flames as he stuck his head in the fire.

"Severus, my dear boy! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore said cheerfully as the floo connection opened.

Severus sneered at Dumbledore, fixing him with his most potent glare, "Don't fuck with me Albus. What happened last night?"

A look of sheer confusion passed quickly over Dumbledore's face before he smoothed his expression into something more manageable, "I am afraid I have no idea what you.."

"Albus, you will tell me right this minute what you have done or I swear I won't be held accountable for what I do next," Severus threatened, baring his teeth and almost growling the words.

The benign look on Dumbledore's face softened before he answered, "Severus, I am not sure what you mean. I went to bed yesterday evening and I awoke this morning. Nothing has happened, I assure you."

"You lie Albus. I know you brought me to my quarters last night and I know I was healed by someone with some talent for healing. You will tell me what you have done!" Snape shouted through the flames.

"Severus," Dumbledore said seriously, "I am telling the absolute truth when I say that I had nothing to do with this. You must have forgotten."

Snape laughed bitterly. "I do NOT forget Albus. I have never forgotten." No, he would never forget the way Dumbledore dismissed and threatened him even as a young student laying in the hospital ward, terrified from a 'prank gone wrong'.

Dumbledore shook his head, "I do not have your answers my boy."

He could tell Dumbledore was attempting to look appropriately ashamed, but Severus could see straight through the weak attempt. No matter, there was an easy way to get his answers. "Show me your hands!" Severus spat, "I will get my truth."

Chuckling softly, Albus held out his hands. "What will this tell you Severus?" he said, "What truth do you perceive lies in my hands?"

But Snape was already shaking his head in disbelief and withdrawing from the fire. His wards should have burned Dumbledore's hands so severely that he would be rendered useless until Snape himself performed the counter curse. His wards were bitter and nasty to anyone who tried to enter uninvited, and there was only one counter curse of Snape's own devising.

Albus had not been in his rooms last night.

...

Please review if you liked it, or even if you didn't. Tell me what you'd like to see. Hermione didn't show a lot of her personality in this chapter, but we'll see more from her next chapter.