Hermione raced down the stairs, unable to shake Severus Snape's contemptuous sneer from her mind's eye.

Reaching her room, she flung herself onto the bed and buried her face in her pillow in a hopeless attempt to stifle her sobs … her pathetic snivelling a Snape-like voice taunted her. Humiliation and guilt and anger all wracked through her. She was almost shaking with pure adrenaline.

It was several minutes before she even noticed that someone was knocking on the door.

'Hermione, what is it? What was all that shouting about?'

Harry. Harry, who had warned her about Snape, who she should have listened to. God, she hoped he hadn't come here to gloat.

Head still buried in the pillow, she waved her wand in the general direction of the door. It creaked open, and she raised her head a little, wiped her eyes with her sleeves, and took a deep, shuddering breath. 'H-he h-hates me.'

The mattress dipped next to her as she felt Harry's hand on her back. 'Who, Snape?'

She nodded glumly.

'And this is news to you? He hates everyone, Hermione.'

She made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and then immediately burst into a fresh bout of tears.

'What the … Hermione, what happened?' Harry murmured, but she was too distraught to answer him, just shook her head and clutched even tighter to the pillow.

Harry rubbed hesitant circles on her back while her harsh sobs filled the room. She felt emotionally unravelled, all her buoyancy of the morning evaporated as the reality of Severus Snape's situation and her undeniable involvement in it came crashing down upon her.

Snape was right; she had been a fool. It had never even crossed her mind that he might not have wanted saving, that he wouldn't be immediately pardoned for his so-called crimes once the truth was revealed to the world.

Foolish. Naïve. Arrogant.

He was so sure he was set for Azkaban. Was it any wonder he hated her?

She sobbed and sobbed until she was wrung dry. Harry stayed by her side until the door cracked open and a familiar red-headed face peered in. Hermione caught faint, bemused whispers before Harry moved away from her and his hands were replaced with Ron's bulky ones.

oOo

In the fourth floor bedroom of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Severus Snape was fuming.

The temptation to throw the teapot against the door after Granger had left was almost irresistible, but after that little display of his he figured this was likely the only pot he'd see today, and he was loathe to waste perfectly good caffeine. He settled for throwing his pillow off the bed – it made a soft thump as it hit the wardrobe and fell to the floor, and wasn't at all satisfying and now he was uncomfortable because he had no support for his back and there was still residual venom in his system that made it hurt to move his legs and to top it all off he now had the mother of all blasted headaches.

It was on the tip of his tongue to summon the pillow when he remembered he couldn't.

Helpless. Feeble. Impotent.

Weak.

How he longed to scream, to pound his fists against the walls of this godforsaken room until he was hoarse and all the rage was gone, until he was but an empty vessel. But there wasn't even a fucking Silencing Charm on his door, because the Ministry had deemed it would be an "unacceptable security risk". Quite what that risk was no one had told him. Bastards. If he was doomed to suffer the humiliation of being prisoner in the house of one of his oldest enemies, they might at the very least have allowed him the dignity of expressing his rage when he saw fit.

He leaned back against the wooden headboard, trying to ignore the growing throbbing in his neck, and, with a covetous glance at the pillow mere feet from the bed, attempted to get comfortable. But it was a losing battle; no matter how he shifted he hurt.

This was so far from how he'd wanted things to go. From the very moment Albus Dumbledore had ordered Severus to kill him nearly two years ago, he had known that on the other side of war lay only two options: either die a – with any luck – redeeming death, or end up incarcerated in Azkaban for the rest of his days.

When presented with those choices, it was no contest.

And he had made his peace with it. As long as he carried out the task he'd been assigned – given Potter the final piece of the puzzle in order to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all – he could console himself with that and he could die a … well, perhaps not a happy man, but at least a useful one.

He let out a ragged sigh, and closed his eyes as he cast his mind back to that night in the Shrieking Shack.

His memories after Potter and his friends had left were hazy, but they'd been gradually coming back to him over recent days when he'd had nothing else to do but remember. He recalled a sensation of fire through his veins as Nagini's venom spread, being surrounded by his own blood as it drained from his body, immobile, in the most excruciating pain he'd ever felt in his life – and he was no stranger to the Cruciatus curse. He remembered drifting in and out of consciousness several times, the world becoming more and more unreal with each journey.

He remembered screaming, but he was almost certain no sound had come from his mouth, and as the decaying backdrop of the Shack blurred, a succession of figures had seemed to spring from the floorboards. First Albus, peering down at him through half-moon spectacles with an expression of disappointment and regret, then his mother, blank-eyed and distant, his father, bearing a painfully familiar sneer.

'N-no,' he muttered, whether in his head or out loud he had no idea. 'No … please …'

The figures vanished, replaced instantly by the most beautiful vision he'd ever seen. Lily, as she had been, all vibrant red hair and vivid green eyes and wide, playful smile. She stood over him and held out a hand. He tried to reach for her but his body wouldn't cooperate.

'Lily,' he gasped as pain of a new kind scorched through him.

She crouched down and ran a finger down his face. He didn't feel a thing.

'Oh, Sev,' she whispered.

'Am I dead yet?'

Lily – wonderful, beautiful, perfect Lily – shook her head. 'You aren't dead.'

'But I will be soon,' he said, drinking in the sight of her.

She said nothing, only smiled at him. 'Thank you, Severus. For keeping Harry safe.'

'Anything … anything for you.'

She smiled sadly. He felt a sharp pain and a strange choking sensation and for a few seconds he couldn't breathe. Almost there, Lily. I'm almost there.

'I always wanted you,' he gasped out.

Her hand stroked his temple gently and she gave him the softest of smiles. 'I know. But I couldn't be what you needed me to be, Sev. I hope you'll see it one day.'

Even now, when he was at death's door, she was denying him.

He grimaced at the sharp stinging in his neck. Wasn't the pain supposed to fade the closer one got to death? Why was everything now hurting more? He suddenly panicked – might this be the last chance he had to talk to her? There were still so many things he wanted to say.

'I'm sorry for … everything. I wish I could take it back. I wish so many things could have been different.'

She shook her head. 'Sssh, I forgive you, Sev. After everything you've done, how could I not?'

'I did it all for you, Lily. All of it.'

'I know, Sev. And you've been wonderful.' Her serene expression turned serious then and a crease formed between her eyes. 'Just hold on. Hold on. You aren't going to die, sir, I promise you.'

Sir? Why was Lily calling him sir?

And why was she telling him – no! no, he had to …

'No … please. Let me … Lily, I love you.'

'Just hold on. You're going to be okay.'

'Don't leave me,' he whispered, in a voice that it suddenly hurt to use.

'I won't leave you.'

But she'd lied. Lily faded, and in place of her sleek red hair was a bushy chestnut mane, and her beautiful green eyes turned to plain brown. It was all wrong. He closed his eyes, desperate to keep the image of Lily alive in his mind during his final moments.

'Sir, can you hear me?' he remembered a woman's voice saying as he felt himself lifted from the ground and floating through the air. 'You're going to be okay, sir, I promise … I'm taking you to the hospital wing … Just hold on a little bit more … That's it … We're almost there …'

The voice had been vaguely familiar, but in his delirium he hadn't been able to place it. It was the last thing he remembered before waking up weeks later in St. Mungo's in a unbearably white room guarded by two Aurors. There had been no bouquet of flowers, no insipid cards from well-wishers, no one to welcome him back to the land of the living. The war was won and Voldemort was dead and yet for Severus, he was as he had always been – alone.

Kingsley Shacklebolt (who Severus had been unsurprised to learn had been voted Minister for Magic in the snap election following the battle) had been the one to inform him of his situation; he was to remain in St. Mungo's until his health improved enough for him to be moved to a secure location to await his trial. Kingsley, in his generosity, had struck a deal with Potter and managed to persuade the Wizengamot for Severus to be held at Order headquarters instead of Azkaban, on the strict criteria that he not be allowed outside his room unless accompanied by a string of bloody babysitters. Frankly, Azkaban had sounded like the better option to him. He was destined to end up there anyway, so what use was delaying his internment by a few weeks?

And then he'd arrived, and aside from a short briefing of the rules – during which Kingsley, two Aurors, Potter, and a very pale and bedraggled Remus Lupin had been present – he'd had no one but a house elf with a big nose and a bad attitude for company.

The joke hadn't been lost on him.

And now Granger informed him she was the reason he was stuck in this hellhole, and he was supposed to be grateful? The girl had another thing coming if she thought he was going to prostrate himself before her in thanks.

Lost in his ruminations, he hadn't heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and he was only alerted to the approach of his second visitor of the morning – Merlin, wasn't he popular today? – when the bedroom door flung wide open and in the doorway stood Harry Potter, clutching his wand in his trembling hand.

'What the hell did you do to Hermione?'

'It is generally considered polite to knock, Potter,' Severus drawled.

The younger man visibly gritted his teeth as he approached the bed. 'What did you do to her, Snape?'

'I have no idea what you're referring to.'

'Bollocks! She's been crying her eyes out for the last half an hour because of you! I don't care if you were on our side or not, if you did anything to her, I swear—'

'I did nothing to her, Potter. If you used that fabled brain of yours, you'd remember my magic has been stripped,' he said impatiently, holding up his wrists and displaying the magical handcuffs around each one. 'I'm no better than a Muggle.'

'Well, what did you say to her then? And don't tell me nothing, because it must have been something bad for her to react like this. She's almost inconsolable.'

He stilled. Inconsolable? Surely Potter exaggerated. All right, perhaps he had been harsh – justifiably – with the girl but there was no reason for her to take his words personally. Nice try, Severus, his inner voice told him, you were positively vile to her and you know it.

He slapped that voice away as though it were an irritant fly.

'I told her nothing but the truth,' he said carefully.

'Which is?'

There was a pregnant pause. At length, Severus looked away from Potter's piercing gaze.

'That her efforts to save me from Nagini's bite were … not appreciated.'

'What?'

'It's fairly self-explanatory, Potter.'

'You wanted to die?' the younger man said quietly.

'What I wanted was to not spend the rest of my life in shackles,' he snapped, the pain in his neck growing as his irritation rose. 'And the likelihood of that is rather high – a fact which I reminded your friend of in no uncertain terms.'

A long silence followed, broken only by Potter's heavy breathing and a gentle wailing from the lower floors; Lupin's spawn, he presumed. At last, Potter spoke.

'You complete and utter git.'

His eyes met Potter's, and he was instantly transported back to the worst day of his life, when another pair of emerald-green eyes had looked at him with the same accusation and disgust. He forced himself to hold the younger man's gaze even though it unnerved him more than he would ever admit.

'I beg your pardon?' he sneered.

'Do you know how cut up Hermione's been about you since the battle? How guilty she's felt about not checking you were still alive after we left with your memories? When you were lying in St. Mungo's and no one knew whether you'd live or die, Hermione was beside herself. And do you know why? Because that's the kind of person Hermione is. She cares about people whether they deserve it or not, and she's been bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders for so long she thinks she responsible for everything and everyone. And for some reason she directed all that at you and now you've thrown it back in her face like it was nothing. You should be kissing her feet not making her run from the room in tears!'

Outwardly, Severus suspected his face displayed no reaction to Potter's words. Inside, however, he was shaken. In learning all his deepest secrets, it seemed the boy had ceased to fear him, and he hardly knew how to act around this version of Potter in order to retain the upper hand.

'I did not ask her to save me,' he spat.

'Well she did, so get used to it! And while you're at it, you can apologise to her!'

'I will do no such thing!'

But he didn't hear Potter's response; a sudden, excruciating pain seared down his left leg all the way into the tips of his toes. He gasped in pain as he clutched wildly at the offending limb through the bedcovers. It was all he could do to stop himself from shaking.

He dimly heard the boy talking to him through the dull static that had taken over his brain. Then something was being pressed into Severus's hand. He looked down and had to blink several times to clear the white splotches from his vision.

Pain potion.

He swallowed the entire thing in one go then threw the empty phial on the covers. Within a minute, the pain had mostly subsided and he could think once again. His pillow was back by his side. He grabbed it and shoved it against the headboard, shuffling himself back until he was comfortable, grimacing at the residual ache in his leg as he moved. The potion would work better with food in his stomach, but he'd be damned if he was going to eat breakfast in bed in front of Potter.

'Are you all right?' the boy asked eventually.

'Do I look all right?' he snapped.

He looked like he was about to offer a retort, then he wisely closed his mouth and crossed his arms awkwardly across his chest.

'Do you need a Healer?'

'No,' Severus said stiffly. 'It's simply the aftereffects of the venom. It's to be expected.'

'Right,' said Potter, though he didn't seem convinced.

Minutes passed, during which neither of them said anything. Potter was leaning back against the writing desk, arms crossed, staring silently at Severus, while Severus was pointedly looking anywhere but in the boy's direction.

After what felt like hours, Potter finally spoke. 'Look … I want you to apologise to Hermione.'

He shot the boy a glare. 'I will not.'

'You're in my house,' Potter continued. 'It'd do you good to remember that. And I could go back on my agreement with the Ministry any time I like.'

Good grief, was the boy attempting to blackmail him? Severus glowered. There was nothing in it of course – even he knew the boy was too soft-hearted to do such a thing. It was the sheer cheek of Potter thinking he could even attempt to threaten him that annoyed Severus the most.

'She deserves an apology. And I think you know that.'

Over my dead body.

When he didn't respond, Potter let out a resigned sigh and – finally! – headed for the door. He was about to close it behind him when he paused, turning back for one last look at Severus.

'You know,' he began, 'there's plenty of us who know the truth about you, Snape, but not many who genuinely care about what happens to you now. Don't push away one of the few who does.'

The door closed and Severus collapsed against the headboard, running a weary hand over his face and fighting a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the pain.

A/N: A massive thank you to everyone who's reviewed or followed after the first chapter!