A/N: I decided before we get to the fun events of the sponge bath to indulge a little and dive into the mind of our deliciously dark leading man. Please don't hate me for postponing the fun a little more. It felt important to add this here but rest assured Hermione will be getting to grips with her gorgeous and formidable hero soon.

Chapter 6 – Brains, Bravery, Beauty

In all of his thirty-eight years Severus Snape had never felt so pampered, cared for or maybe… loved? He lay still, as if unconscious, feigning a complete lack of awareness, his face betraying no emotion – he was used to that but it felt like a long time to be embracing the façade this time. With true sleep claiming him for much of the time, he had no idea how much time had passed since the Granger girl had rescued his fading excuse of a life from death but with the ever increasing affection and lewd commentary, he was beginning to struggle.

Whilst she saved him, he had been unable to speak; the wound to his neck by that blasted snake had penetrated both his windpipe and vocal chords, not to mention piercing his magical core but he could hear the girl retching. It had been all he could manage to instruct Potter, urge him to take the memories as he forced them out of his tear ducts – it was mortifying to appear as if crying to any of his students, especially these ones, but Severus was out of options as to how he could give the young Gryffindor saviour, with eyes as desperately green as his mother's, the facts – he was going to die, they both were. Harry Potter had to know the truth.

The effort it took to squeeze out thirty years of heartbreak and hardship, sacrifice, love and slavery to not one but two very conflicting masters left Severus on the precipice of blacking out for good, on his last breath, his next to last heartbeat, and then…

'Immobulus' the Granger girl had cast.

Well, that won't do the trick, ridiculous dunderheaded girl. Unless she isn't trying to save me. Merlin knows she must hold a grudge… they all do. You need to cast…

'Petrificus totalis' he heard her next spell but even if he had been able to breathe a sigh of relief without the gaping hole in his neck, he was cursed into rigidity and was unable to do anything at all.

Good girl, Miss Granger. Perhaps not quite so dunderheaded after all and not a bad shot either.

And a stasis charm too – well, well, Miss Granger, aren't you becoming quite the little witch.

The pain had subsided immediately, frozen on the dull ache of the throbbing wound; the nerve endings unable to lash out at their sudden exposure to fangs and venom. He could still feel it but it was bearable.

His eyes were not open, he had managed, just about, to close them before her petrificus' hit, lest he give away too much of the little position he had left. It was pointless of course; she had him at quite the disadvantage, completely at her mercy – even if Voldemort and Nagini had done the heavy lifting for her. Snape had found himself rather thankful that it was Miss Granger and not one of the other two miscreants she kept as friends; she at least was not likely to rub his nose in the predicament he'd got himself into; she would not tease or belittle him as he had done to her for the six years she was under his tutelage – neither had she disarmed him.

She had a grace rarely found in a Gryffindor; the last time he had seen such grace in the lion's den was from Lily Evans, 'until she had blown one little comment out of proportion'. The same could not be said of Miss Granger; after all the bile he had thrown at her, for years; after he had killed Albus Dumbledore (at least in her mind), there she was, attempting to save him from the jaws of death; it was mind-boggling. Hermione Granger was much like Lily Evans in a number of ways; she had the brains to match the bravery; perhaps even more so – 'Brightest Witch of Her Age', they called her. Her dedication to her studies was beyond commendable, even if she couldn't help showing off her endless retention – like she had an undetectable extension charm on her brain; her dedication to Potter and Weasley was misplaced but as she kept them somewhat in line and at the very least quadrupled the IQ of the trio, her association had never been discouraged; and her war effort – what a little warrior she had turned out to be.

Snape had kept tabs on the progress of the trio as much as he could go undetected during their time hunting horcruxes and he had been subtly awed by her wards, her strategizing and her command of Potter and Weasley. As he'd watched her resolve to remain with the scar-headed boy wonder when that redheaded twit had abandoned them, he had to admit that he admired her dedication; he also had wanted to crucio that ginger bit of scum to within an inch of his life – but it would have be counterproductive. But, oh when he came back, Miss Granger had been magnificent in her fierceness and she had won his, even if it was begrudging, respect.

When Snape's mind next focused on his surroundings, the pain in his neck was gone and he had two questions rotating in his mind…

How am I still thinking? How am I still breathing?

He hadn't heard her cast healing spells or summon anything to tend his wound; he hadn't felt her apply any pressure or felt any increase in pain. It was just gone. Without thinking Snape slowly moved his hand up to where the bite should have been – quite unbelieving that he was able to do so – there was no wound. It had disappeared. He knew the only magical substance that could work so well and so fast was phoenix tears but they had to be fresh and Fawkes had long since lamented his way from the castle – his master dead; how on earth did she acquire such a thing on the run?

Her voice broke into his thoughts…

"I have to get back, Harry needs me," the girl stated with all the authority of a seasoned Order member. He supposed she was, in a way. The command in her voice brokered no argument; she had completed her task to save him and was moving on with her no doubt considerable 'to-do-list'.

Almost formidable. Very Gryffindor. Very McGonagall; Snape thought, half a century ago, his Slytherin senses added snidely as she pointed her wand at a bag incapable of holding everything she pulled out of it… undetectable extension charm? My, my, Miss Granger really is quite talented with that wand; he though, in spite of himself.

She had handed him three items and he coolly appraised them, as was habitual at this point when he regarded anything unknown. It was obviously a packed lunch of some sort and a potion – an unfamiliar potion, how unusual, she would know a potion that I do not.

Unable to help himself, still in shock at being saved and his control not quite back to what it should be, he inquired on auto-pilot as to what she had handed him.

"Blood replenishing potion…" she'd began. Unlikely. It lacks the granite appearance and dark red hue of a blood replenishing potion. More likely she has been fobbed off by a charlatan apothecary owner. This pearlescent swirl is certainly more akin to the anaesthetic family of potions.

She continued.

"… It's my own recipe, focuses on speeding up the naturally occurring division of blood cells – the effects last an hour."

Now, that is interesting. Using muggle research of cell division. What a clever witch you are Miss Granger. That would account for the pearlescent nature; it works the white blood cells too. When on earth did she have time to make this?

Lost in his musings he'd missed most of what she continued to ramble on about - the bottle of water and a sandwich, only catching something about a lake, Merlin's magic and healing properties. It all sounded rather far-fetched and so he'd disregarded it as unimportant.

Did she just say 'play nurse maid'? Intriguing. She's a little young to play 'healer', he mused internally, but she has grown into something of a very fine young witch. Shame I couldn't possibly…

"Not that you'd let me."

How little you understand of what I would allow, Miss Granger. Not so much a know-it-all after all, apparently.

He had realised, in that moment that he had absent-mindedly been running his eyes over her petite, yet beautifully blossoming into womanhood figure and nodding his unbidden approval.

As the young witch continued, Severus found himself drawn to her voice; it was not over-eager or unashamedly excited as it had been when she was a young student desperate to learn everything and prove herself. She explained her achievements matter-of-factly, as if it meant nothing to her to have achieved such as her own blood-replenishing potion. She had become mature beyond her years – amazingly talented, brilliant even by his exacting standards, demure but quietly confident in her conversing… he was captivated.

His thoughts had focused on her words mid-sentence…

"…won't be off to Askaban for Dumbledore's death either. If I get my way, you'll be honoured with a First Class, Order of Merlin."

How could she possibly know? I only gave Potter those memories minutes ago. How can she have that knowledge? Is she a legillemens?

"Please, stay here for now;" the girl pleaded with him, her eyes close to tears. "I know you probably don't want to but it's safer for you if you stay dead, at least to him.

He couldn't fault her logic, even if he wanted to; it would indeed be safer for the Dark Lord to assume he had died; but why she cared, why she had decided to save him was beyond his own understanding. She was very wrong about one thing though; as much as he really had no interest in staying in the Shrieking Shack, he had no interest in leaving it either, at least until he got answers from her about the source of her wisdom; even Dumbledore hadn't known some of it.

"I'll come and find you when this is all over." She finished and headed for the door.

And then, it really hit him. He was sitting idly by while this young woman of what… eighteen, was going off to fight a war, support her friends, save them, like she saved me. Me? Why me? What possible reason could she have? There is no way she can know my truest loyalties have always been to bring down Tom Riddle; but then she mentioned an Order of Merlin and…

Again her voice cut through his mental ramblings…

"Your wand is on the rug. Disillusion yourself and get some rest. I think it's about time you had a moment to relax. I'll ward the shack. No one will come looking."

How amazingly astute of her? Surely she couldn't have planned this? And why the hell does she care? After how I've treated her and her friends? From her perspective, I must appear almost as monstrous as Voldemort.

She seemed to be taking in several deep breaths, steeling herself for something, summoning all that courage and bravery her Gryffindor heart was so well known for. Typical, his Slytherin tendencies nudged but as a man, he could see the confidence wash over her even as she stumbled through her wording.

"In case I don't see you again; I know you're likely to vanish. I want… I want to say… thank you, for all you've done. Thank you for risking your life, thank you for doing so every day, thank you for protecting Harry even though you had so many reasons not to want to. There are so many things I want to thank you for, that I need to thank you for and hope that we will meet again and you give me the chance."

Sweet Salazar, she really does understand. But that's not possible. How?

He suddenly heard a voice, a voice from nowhere it seemed, the voice of Albus Dumbledore…

"Severus. Miss Granger is indeed possessed of the knowledge of much of your struggles, not from my own impartment you understand, but by other means… an unexpected convergence of stray magics within the Department of Mysteries. Let her in, Severus, and she can help you in a way no one else ever could."

He huffed internally and was about to berate the disembodied voice of one of his ex-masters when he heard the real reason Miss Granger had needed to so steel herself a moment ago; she was issuing him a request…

"I find myself wanting to hug you, Professor. Should I think better of it, sir?"

Severus was struck dumb; not for the first time since she had saved his life. This slip of a young girl, war-heroine at eighteen, warrior, swot, know-it-all, insufferable, beautiful, Gryffindor, witch wanted to hug him. As much as it went beyond everything he would usually portray to the world, she had just saved his life. He owed her his gratitude. Not that a hug would be enough but he could submit to her request.

"Very well, Miss Granger. But make it quick, the battle is not yet won; you have work to do."

The poor girl looked as mind-blown by his acquiescence as he was by her request. It took her a moment to approach and he felt as though his heart had stopped beating in his chest, like his breath had completely ceased moving from atmosphere to lungs and back again. When she did finally move toward him, it was not tentative or shy; it was full force and full of gratitude and hope and love and a need for him to reciprocate it.

It seemed she was holding on for dear life and with his magic slowly rippling back to him, he could just about sense the edge of her feelings as the empathic skills of his legillemency fluttered with energy. She loves me.

He could tell she wasn't aware of it, but it was there, just below the surface of her understanding. For all her knowledge and wisdom, her emotional intelligence was not quite to the standard of her mind but when she began speaking again, against his chest, Severus began to doubt his own conclusion…

"Thank you, Professor, thank you for everything. It's time to let go of the past now, you are a good man. Everything you have done has been with good reason and so I want you to know, I want you to always know, that you are forgiven. I may not be able to convince everyone to feel the same way but, by Merlin, I'm going to try."

To Severus Snape, a man with very little understanding of emotional connection and romantic love himself, the words she was practically whispering to him, were the words of a woman in love whether she knew it or not. And they urged him to allow his own vulnerability to surface, if just for a moment, and a tear fell from his eye.

He wiped it away quickly, a little wary of allowing her to feel it or see it, and placed a hopefully comforting hand on her shoulder before allowing a small measure of his gratitude to escape his lips.

"I appreciate that, Miss Granger."

She moved away slightly and looked over him, is she eying me up? This witch has her mind on backwards.

"How do you feel, Professor? Did the phoenix tears heal you completely? Are you ok?"

Why does she care? It's infuriating not knowing how she came to understand me so bloody well. I know the little witch is observant and smart as a whip but could she really have just put it all together?

After too many moments of his own internal questioning, he realised she had asked him a question. Not that it mattered if he didn't answer her, she was used to his silence and his annoyance at her endless questions but perhaps, just this once, he actually owed her an answer.

"I will survive. Thanks to you. Now, run a long and be the wisdom behind our dunderheaded saviour,"

Severus honestly and truly attempted to smugly enjoy his jibe at her best friend, the Boy Who Lived, but knowing he was sending her off into the magical battlefield made something in his heart twist painfully.

But then she smiled; a full, brilliant smile that he had only ever seen her use for the likes of Gryffindor's and this time, it was directed at him; her stunningly rich caramel eyes shining with warmth and humour for him as she saluted him and said in her most anything-to-please-a-professor voice… "Yes, sir."

And then she was gone.

A/N: Ok so this is the first of hopefully no more than two chapters of Severus's side of things before we get to the deliciousness that will be that sponge bath. Can't wait to write that.

Thank you so much to everyone who has followed and favourited so far and much love to my reviewers, your comments and support are always appreciated and I will always endeavour to reply when I can.