Chapter Five: The Congenial Severus Snape

Disclaimer: See chapter one

Hermione had rounded up the stairs, and was walking down the corridor to her room before she let herself chuckle. "That was perfect," She mumbled to herself, "Absolutely perfect." The minute Hermione had sat down at dinner she had been waiting for an opportunity to present her little nugget of information. And then, like he had been reading from a script, Lucius had said all the right things. "Oh Draco," She let out another laugh, as she stepped inside her room. Leaning back against the door, she finally let her guard down. "How could Lucius have been so gullible? 'Knowledge is power'…Merlin, I don't even believe that bullshit. Not when it comes to Voldemort, anyway." 'Of course,' Hermione conceded, Lucius believed that he was also playing her. In fact she had been banking on it.

Severus had told her that Voldemort had given Lucius specific orders to keep her interested in their side. This put Hermione in a very advantageous position. She could get away with just about anything, as long as she could present Lucius with a reason to justify her 'defiance'. Lucius couldn't openly support Hermione when she did things like tell Draco that Voldemort just happened to be part Muggle, but if she could justify her action, give Lucius an easy way out, she would be safe. 'That was almost too easy,' she mused. As much as Lucius had to keep her interest, that didn't stop him from yelling at her, or even demanding retributions for the trouble she just caused him. 'Well,' She thought, 'I'll talk to Severus about it tomorrow, I'm to tired to figure it out now.' She gave a quick sigh, as the picture of Draco's oh so scandalized face popped into her head once more.

Pushing herself off the door, she walked over to the Armour, undressing as she went. Opening the doors, she extracted her duffle bag, and pulled out a blue flannel nightdress, and slipped it over her head. Then she turned and went into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she emerged feeling all to ready for bed.

Standing next to the bed, she pulled back the covers, and propped the pillows up against the cherry wood headboard. Hermione then turned to her night table, and removed the diary that she had been forced to leave when Draco had arrived to pick her up. She allowed herself a brief smile as she looked at the book. It had been Severus who had suggested that she write about what she was doing so that it would be easier for her to stay in character. Hermione leaned her head back into the pillows as she stared at the black leather bound book. Her eyes glazed over as stray thoughts entered her mind. Although as the strands came together, they were not random at all, but of Hermione's second lesson from Severus.

Hermione traveled up the Heritage Stone walkway that lead to Snape's cottage, wishing that she didn't have to spend the weekend with him. She hadn't slept well the night before; she kept hearing his voice echo in her head, 'We'll start with trust then.' All Hermione wanted to do was go to her home, and sleep. She was in no mood, or state, to deal with Snape, and the last thing she need was for him to see her weak. Which is why she couldn't cancel, and that's why she was gently knocking on the door hoping that once she got inside, he would show her to her room, and forget about her for the rest of the evening.

"Hello Miss Granger," Snape's silky voice cut into her thought as he swung the door open. Hermione looked up to see him framed in the doorway, looking down his crooked nose at her.

"Sir," Hermione responded curtly, determined not to look away from his gaze.

Snape back away from the door, and gestured for Hermione to enter. "Let me take those," He said politely reaching for her bags, and starting up the stairs. Too startled by Snape's almost kind gesture, Hermione followed him up onto the second floor in silence; wishing that the only sound was not her feet making a gentle pitter patter across the hardwood.

Hermione let out a grateful sigh as the she stepped on to the white Ber-Ber carpet that covered the second story. To Hermione's right was a long white wall, occasionally broken by three separate paneled white doors, and doorframes. To her left was a similar set up, the whites wall completely bare. The only picture, if it could be called that, was on the wall directly in front of the stairs. It was a large, and obviously very old tapestry with the Slytherin crest on it. Snape noticed Hermione eyeing the thing, and he smirked at her. "It doesn't really fit, I agree," He said, startling Hermione both by the fact he was talking, and how accurately her had perceived her thoughts. "I had to have something that symbolized Slytherin, and indicated a pureblood wizard. I thought it better to kill two birds with one stone." Hermione just nodded, and followed Snape into the third and finally room along the left side of the upstairs.

"This will be your space whenever you stay here." The "space" Hermione had been given was a spacious one. The first thing she noticed, after the size, was that the room had been decorated in very neutral beiges, whites and taupes. She liked it. Directly across from her was a north-facing window that had the vertical binds drawn – size: one inch – and with the absences of any light outside, Hermione could see her own reflection in the window. The bed, which had a comfortable looking down comforter resting on it, sat flush against the west wall. A large pine dresser adorned the same wall, a few feet away. On the opposite side of the room there was a corner-angled fireplace, which had simple unfinished rough marble as a border. Two cozy looking chairs sat in front of it. Beside the fireplace was a desk, in a wood that matched that of the dresser. A few feet away from the workspace was a door, which Hermione presumed lead into a bathroom, or another guest room. She was about to state her theory out loud when she realized with a sharp pang that she had been told explicitly not to presume, and decide to keep her mouth shut. Instead she walked over to the bed as sat down to allow Snape to continue. "I want you to be comfortable in my home," He spoke as he set Hermione's bags beside the dresser. 'Just how long, or how often, does he think I'm going to be staying here?' Hermione wondered, and she had the distinct feeling that she would be anything but 'comfortable'

"The lavatory is through that door there," Hermione nodded, a triumphant voice inside her announcing to herself that she had been right. "I won't have other guest for the duration of your training, and so you may leave anything in there-" he indicated the bathroom "-or in here that you do not wish to pack every time you leave."

"Thank you, that will be most convenient," Hermione replied politely.

"Yes well…" Snape paused briefly as if unsure of what he wanted to say next. "There is another guest room on the other side of the lavatory. Feel free to check it out, and if you prefer that bedroom, you may make use of it instead." Hermione nodded. She had a feeling that that had not been what he had wanted to say. "The other side of the upstairs in my private study, bedroom, and bath, if you like I can show you them after dinner. I would, however, appreciate it if you did not go into those rooms without my knowledge. The rest of the house is yours to enjoy." Again Hermione nodded, she was surprised that he had offered her a tour of, what she presume – there was that pesky word again – to be, his private domain. "Anyway," Snape continued in the same even voice that he had been using all evening, "Speaking of dinner, it should be ready in about fifteen minutes. I will leave you get freshened up. I assume you can find you way down to the kitchen on your own?"

"Yes, thank you, I'll manage."

"Good, I'll see you downstairs when you're ready then."

"Did you make it?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"What?" He craned his neck to look at her form the doorway where he was standing.

"Dinner! Did you make it?" She repeated feeling a fit of giggles about to bubble to the surface.

"Yes," Snape replied shortly, "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, no! Not at all." Hermione answered smiling.

"Wonderful," Snape drawled, "I'll see you in fifteen minutes." He pulled the door closed behind him.

Hermione, her earlier tiredness forgotten, burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole idea, Professor Severus Snape, the most loathed teacher at Hogwarts, was making her dinner. What's more, he was making her that dinner in his home, his private summer cottage, in fact. Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks in rapid secession, and if she were one to indulge in the irony of situations, this would have bordered on gluttonous. Breathing out quickly to calm herself, Hermione stood from the bed, and went to the bags she hadn't bothered to reduce for the short trip. Quickly she put the few items in the appropriate draws. Taking her toiletries bag into the bathroom, she allowed herself a quick glance in the mirror, and insuring that she did not look too offensive, exited both rooms in search of the kitchen.

When she reached the bottom floor, Hermione turned to her left; heading in the opposite direction from the room that her and Snape had…talked in yesterday. She realized that her deduction – based mainly on the sounds, and smells, of cooking – had, indeed, been right. The bright, artificially, light of the kitchen could be seen from were she was standing. As Hermione walked down the hall, she passed a dinning room that was shrouded in darkness, although she was fairly certain that it would be much like the rest of the house; surprisingly tasteful, and understated. Entering the kitchen she saw that it also matched the major theme. Well all except the tall man standing at the modern Muggle stove in long black, perfectly tailored, robes, stirring something that smelled absolutely delicious.

"Here's what I don't get," Hermione said taking a seat on one of the metal stools at the breakfast nook, noting the small square tiles and wood boarder that was the counter top. At her remark Snape turned away from the pot, although he had not been startled by her arrival, and handed her a large tumbler of red wine. He nodded for her to continue. "Why –and don't take me the wrong way –is your house so bloody modern?"

"Surprised?" Although Snape's neutral expression did not change, the smirk was evident in his voice.

"Obviously," Hermione replied impatiently.

"I find old castles quite drafty," He shrugged, turning back to the white, but obviously marble counter, where he was slicing vegetables for a salad. "And the old architecture gets more then a little depressing after a while."

"Alright," Hermione conceded after considering for a moment, "I can give you those. But why would you want a fridge, and a stove, and florescent lights? And," She added as an after thought, "How exactly do you get the electricity to work out here?"

Snape chuckled softly, "You still haven't curbed that inquisitive mind of yours; have you?" Hermione glared at his back, but remained silent. "To answer your first question, I don't employ house elves, and I prefer to cook without using my wand. I like my food unspoiled. It is much easier to uses the amenities already invented then to come up with clumsy substitutes my self. In response to your second question, a bit of 'foolish wand waving'–" that brought back some memories "–is quite useful in powering these machines. My home is located far enough away from Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade, and most other establishment, wizarding or otherwise, for their magic not to interfere with mine."

"Oh," Hermione replied stupidly, "So you had this place specially built then?"

Snape nodded, "Although if it makes you feel any better, I do own a rather large estate complete with gothic castle. I use is for large parties, or anything that has to do with my business with the Death Eaters. I just prefer to live here. Besides," He added, craning his neck to look her squarely in the eyes, "That castle has too many places to hide."

Hermione shuttered slightly, and reached down to take a sip of her wine to calm herself. "Well," Hermione said lightly, "I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"Indeed."

And then the awkward silence that seemed to stretch on forever, as Snape finished his culinary preparations, and place a heaping plate of pasta with a side salad in front of her. Eating dinner only made the silence a little more bearable, and Hermione noticed that she seemed to be the only one who was uncomfortable, as she glanced up to see Snape chewing thoughtfully. This realization made her fish desperately with something to say, and eventually come up with, "Don't you use your dining room?" Snape turned to look at her, completely expressionless, and when he made no move to answer the question Hermione added, as way of explanation, "It's just when I came down from upstairs, I saw one, and thought that we would eat in their."

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger," Snape drawled lazily, setting down his fork, and taking a slow sip of his wine. "I do believe, if memory serves, that I mentioned yesterday that you were no longer suppose to assume anything."

"Well…it's…it was just–" Hermione stuttered trying to explain herself.

"Get into the habit of doing what I tell you when I tell you. Without me having to tell you it twice, Miss Granger." Snape interjecting effectively cutting her off, "It will make this considerably more efficient."

"I wasn't trying to make a presumption, sir," Hermione infused the last word with every ounce of sarcasm she posed, "I was just making conversation."

"Be that as it may-" Snape did not change his tone "-you will do exactly what I say, and you will make an effort not to challenge me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and set her own fork down with a loud clunk, "You're loving this aren't you. Sitting there all high and mighty and telling me what I can and cannot do. Well I'm sorry, Professor, it just doesn't work that way. Not anymore! I'm not one of your simpering first years, and I will not follow orders you give me without question."

"Yes you will," Snape replied as his voice took on a dangerously, low, silky tone, "You will do exactly what I say. And if you think that this is anything resembling fun–" Hermione was sure that she had never heard anyone say that word with more venom then Snape just had "–then you are no better then one of my 'simpering first years'."

"That's not fair," Hermione replied slightly hurt.

"I see, and you thinking that my idea of fun is letting you into my house, and showing you my private world, and teaching you the things that I'm about to teach you is the embodiment of fair?" Snape shook his head, his voice turning snide as he continued, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger, but I don't sit around in my spare time and come up with cunning plans to corrupt innocent young girls like yourself."

"No I suppose you don't," Hermione replied with equal venom. "I imagine that you sit around fretting about what hors d'oeuvres are best to serve with a side order of rape and torture for your next Death Eater party. 'Here Lucius,' I imagine you saying, 'have some fresh spinach quiche as you watch your son dismember that delightful little Muggle. I find that the rosemary in the recipe only adds to the experience.'"

Snape look at her carefully, locking eyes before he said, in a calm voice that only served to further unsettle Hermione, "Now who's the one being unfair?"

Hermione grimaced at his words, regretting what she had said immediately. More because she knew he was right then anything else. "You're right, and I'm sorry," She murmured quietly a moment later.

"Yes, well, do what I say, and we will not have a problem." Hermione clenched her jaw at that, but said nothing. She had the distinct feeling that he was trying to pick a fight, and she had no intention of giving him what he wanted.

Having lost her appetite, she picked at what was left of her dinner, decidedly not looking at Snape, until he waved his wand to clear everything away. "What can I say," Snape said lightly, obviously seeing the inquisitive look that Hermione could not conceal. "Now," He continued, he continued briskly, "Yesterday you mentioned that you did not trust me; has you sentiment changed since then?"

"Not exactly."

"Alright, what would give you reason to trust me?"

Hermione thought for a moment, a wicked grin spreading over her face, "You could sing karaoke."

Snape blinked at her, several times. "What?"

"It's a Muggle form of entertainment," Hermione explained. "An individual gets up and sings the lyrics to a popular song with the original music as an accompaniment in front of a large group of people. It's quite wonderful."

"Yes, I'm sure it would be." Snape ground out. "So you expect me to sing, for you, and that would make you trust me."

"No," Hermione admitted, "But it would be absolutely wonderful to see."

"Miss Granger, if you are not going to take this-"

"I know," Hermione interrupted, "I was joking, I don't actually expect you to sing for me." She paused for a moment, debating the most effective way to put her next statement. "Look, there's nothing you could do exactly that would specifically gain my trust, I just have many years of prejudice to work through. I'll get over that soon, and yes I know that it's childish, but it's the truth."

Snape looked at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Alright," He said, "Well I suppose we can try and dispel those prejudices. I hope that I've done a bit of that by now."

"Yes, of course."

"Alright," Snape said slowly, standing up, and motioning for Hermione to follow. "Lets go have some dessert shall we?" Hermione complied following him into the living room.

Sitting down on the same couches that had occupied the day before, Hermione rested her head against the back of the chair, and closed her eyes briefly. "Tired, Miss Granger?" Snape asked as he held out a cup of tea for her.

Bring her head up, she nodded, and took the saucer from him, "Thank you."

Taking a sip of his own tea, Snape nodded curtly, "Alright," He said, as if he had reached a decision, "I want you to ask me anything."

"Uhm?"

"Turnabout is fair play, Miss Granger, and I had the privilege to interrogate you yesterday, so you can do the same now." Snape's voice was toneless.

"Okay," Hermione said slowly taking a sip of her tea, and then setting it down on the coffee table trying to buy herself some time. "Umm…-" Hermione felt her eyes flicker towards his left forearm. "Anything?" Hermione asked, her voice taking on a new confidence. Snape nodded, raising an eyebrow at her, as if in challenge. "Why were you a Death Eater? And…and why did you leave?"

"I'm impressed Miss Granger," Snape replied, a neutral, impassive, expression forming on his features. "You still go right to the heart of the issue." Snape's gaze flicked passed her, and he sat staring out the window for a moment. "Alright…Hermione–" she was startled by the use of her given name "–if you're sure?" She nodded, and he began.

"I don't really remember my mother; I was about two when she died. I do, however, remember that she used to smell of jasmine, and every time she would gather me in one her hugs, I would get this subtle scent of it. After she died, my father did the best he could. His own childhood had been less then perfect, and many things, for him, stemmed from that, included his less than paternal nature. He was very strict with me, and did not tolerate disobedience. Not to say that he was a bad father, he never beat me, and he rarely raised his voice, he just commanded respect. He was very much involved in my life; our family's wealth allotted him that privilege. He spent many painstaking hours teaching me about potions, and how to fly. Him and I used to pass many a day throwing around the Quaffle in the back yard. He also took the time to teach me certain things about Muggle society. You see my father was a great supporter of Dumbledore. Because of his years in Slytherin, he understood the prejudices that were afforded to Muggle born witches and wizards although he was never stupid enough to put any stock in them. Personally, I think that came from a need to rebel against his own father, who was somewhat like Lucius Malfoy, although Markus Snape had no one like Voldemort to follow. In an effort to prevent the prejudice gene for arising in me, he thought it was best to expand my knowledge, and so my education before Hogwarts was quite…extensive. I loved him very much, and he loved me in his own way. However, he never told me as so, and I never told him how I felt either

"I was happy to go to Hogwarts, I viewed it as a opportunity to prove my abilities to my father. I wasn't disappointed. Now I know this may come as a surprise, Miss Granger, but I was quite popular in school. At least with the Slytherins, and I am quite sure that some of the Ravenclaws appreciated my talents also. I was able to bring in a lot of points for the house through my various academic endeavors. I was also renowned for various pranks that I came up with. The Weasley paled in comparison, I should probably mention that my pranks were never particularly vindictive, and they were never intended to hurt anybody, and wouldn't turn that way until much later in my life. Anyway, my first year was very successful, I was convinced that my father would be very proud of me, I got second in the class as well, only falling behind a silly Gryffindor girl: Lily Evens. However when I got home, my father instructed me to sit down in the chair in front of his desk, and asked me why I had let some girl beat me. 'Severus,' he had said, 'Never settle for less then the best.' The problem was, I had achieved my best, but at my eleven years did not allow me to stand up to my father, and instead found me up in my room spending my first day of summer vacation think how I could do better.

"My second year followed a much similar pattern as my first. I was on my house team, as a Chaser, something that I hoped would make my father proud, he was in part responsible for me being their after all. However he only commented on the games that Slytherin lost to Gryffindor, the only team that beat us, and never on the many victories that I helped achieve. My dislike for James Potter started sometime in my second year, I hated only because he was a Gryffindor, and only because, in my mind, gave my father another reason to criticize me. However I didn't hate him enough to seek out revenge or anything, I would just brood. My second summer was drastically different form the first. I still hadn't beaten Evans, and this time, my father went over each individual mark I had, as asked me why I had only managed an 80 in transfiguration, when I was obviously capable a 95, like my potions mark. From this he decided that I need extra practice, and implemented a strict schedule for me to follow to review much of the second year syllabus, and get a head start on my third year.

"Thus my resentment started. I had a lot of time to think redoing lessons that I had already done, and so in that time I decide that it was not only my fathers fault that I was stuck, it was also Evans' and Potter's, and his insipid friends, who I decide that I didn't like simply because they liked him. I was quite righteous in my anger, and I plotted ways, that I would never execute, to get back at them. I may have been in Slytherin, but I didn't really want any of them dead. Third year was a blur of Quidditch matches and unimportant tests. My resentment towards Potter, Evans and my father deepened; it festered into an unhealthy bout of childhood angst.

"Because I was, well, popular, I had a number of close friends, particularly Robert Tulus. We would have been like Potter and Weasley, virtually inseparable, up to our fair share of mischief. I had the pleasure of spending my third summer there, and that would be a decision I would regret for the better part of my young life. Robert had parents that virtually worship the ground that he walked on. In short, they dotted after him, entertaining his every whim. I hadn't quite realized how 'bad' his parents were until I spent some time with them. In that month I spent with him and his family, I saw what it was like to have parents, and indeed a family that did not guard it's every move and gesture. A family that did not guard it's every emotion. I resented my father even more, and vowed that I would never become him. I decide, during that month that I would do everything in my power to push my father away; make him regret how hard he pushed me.

"With my new mission in mind, the next four years at Hogwarts would be, in hindsight, a disaster. My father wanted me to win Quidditch matches: I gave less then my best until they kicked me off the team in my sixth year. My father insisted on me exceeding in school: I dropped down the ranks, virtually to the bottom. In my seventh year, I would, however, prove that it was on purpose by getting some of the top scores on my NEWTs. The year before I started at Hogwarts was the year Lord Voldemort first made his presence in the Wizarding community known. By my fifth year there were many supporters of Voldemort residing in Slytherin, and a few in some of the other houses. My father supported Dumbledore, so naturally I would support Voldemort, or at least become chummy with his followers. I was quite charming, and found that I had little difficulties finding female entertainment. Slytherin girls are more then attracted to the less reputable boys in the house.

"I found new reasons to hate Evans, Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew. The plots I had devised in my second year were refined, and put into action, ensuring that they would come to hate me as much as I hated them. I used polyjuice to set them against one another, I set them up to be found by teachers while they where out during midnight excursions. The Whomping Willow incident was their way of getting back at me. I'm not entirely sure what made Potter decide to back out of the prank, but fortunately for them, and myself he did. As for Robert, he would never see my 'decent into darkness'. His parents work for the Ministry and were relocated to Africa at the beginning of the fourth year. He and I sent the occasional owl, but he would never know what I had become.

"So what did my father think of my new personality? Not a hell of a lot. He would lecture me endlessly on how I was throwing my life away. He would tell me that he forbade me to hang out with my new friends. He told me that I had not only disgraced him and myself, but I had disgraced the family. I can't say I was particularly moved by his speeches on right and wrong, good and evil. I made certain that he had no control over what I did, and that he got the message that I no longer respected him, or what he stood for. I continued to chum around with my friends, and I continued to get in trouble.

"About two months after I had finished school I received a letter from Voldemort asking me to come out to one of his Death Eater meetings. Unfortunately my father found the letter before I had made my decision; I was still living with him. After he found the letter he came storming into my room and demanded to know what I was doing corresponding with the Dark Lord. 'It's none of your business,' I told him. 'God damn it, Severus,' he bellowed. He and I would argued about it for a while, and then, with all my eighteen years of worldly experience, I turned to him, and very calmly said, 'Fuck you dad', and went to become a Death Eater. As I was walking out the front door, that day, he told me in no uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome in his home.

"My turning to Voldemort for support, at the time, seemed like the only logical thing to do. I had a little money saved and so I rented a flat, and went to Voldemort's meeting. I was not overly impressed with what I saw there, but I really had nothing better to do with my time, and I was running short on cash. A few weeks later I had the Dark Mark burned into my left forearm, and was actively plotting strategy with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. For some reason he took a liking to me, perhaps because I was not there solely to kill, and rape Muggles. Anyway he gave me my choice of assignments, and had me do various research for him. I am, in fact, partly responsible for his return, he would not have continued to exist had I not found potions that would protect him, and prolong his life. Lucius was in much the same position as myself. Him and I became friends during my last four years at Hogwarts, and through our shared responsibilities, continued that friendship during my two and half years of service to the Dark Lord. In a lot of ways I was happy to serve Voldemort. He was good to his followers, at least in his first reign, and he greatly appreciated my talents. I never liked the midnight visits to the homes of Muggle supporters, I knew a lot of the families from Hogwarts, and I never developed the same taste for killing them that a lot of my fellows did. Nonetheless, I stay with him; in my mind I had nowhere else to go.

"Then one night in January 1981 I met an old friend of my, Robert. I hadn't spoken, or written to him since I'd left Hogwarts, and there he was being dragged out of the Malfoy Manner dungeons to stand before Voldemort. He struggled to his feet as he was thrown at Voldemort's feet, and I watched as the Dark Lord offered him the choice of joining his ranks, or dying. I watched Robert look the most feared wizard in the wizarding community right in his beady little eyes, and laugh. 'As much as I appreciate the offer to join your pitiful little following, I think I'll take my chances with…well anyone but you.' I then watched as they tortured him for half an hour before he died. It was then that I was struck with an epiphany: I was giving my life to a man who would let me die if it would gain him more power. I had let my best friend die, and I had killed many others, and I didn't even believe in the cause I was throwing my life away for.

"With that revelation I did a little bit of soul searching, and decide that I couldn't live with myself if I continued to be a Death Eater, and so I went to Albus. I told him everything, and when I was done, I expected him to give me a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Imagine my surprise when he offered me away to not only stay out of prison, but also to redeem myself. He offered me my current position at Hogwarts, and told me that I would be used as a spy for the Resistance. In my more honest moments–" she had obviously caught him at one, "–I will admit that I enjoy my role. I like mind games, Miss Ganger, and I like manipulating people.

"During the nine months after I joined the resistance, I saved some lives, not all, but some. I was unable to save the Potters, and believe it or not, but I did try. For the next thirteen years, my life existed in a delicate balance. I could not give myself away as a former Death Eater, nor could I betray my loyalties to Dumbledore. Part of my hatred for the young Mister Potter was an act to keep Lucius from suspecting what I really was. I needed Harry Potter to hate me, and Draco Malfoy to love me. I played the role well enough so that when Voldemort rose again, I was able to assume my role as his faithful servant, and have been playing the part even since."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments wondering what to say. A multitude of things were running through her head. Not the least of which, "So you became a Death Eater because you where an angst ridden teenager?" She asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry if you were expecting something more romantic, more tragic," He snapped back, "But for the most part, I was just angry and stupid."

Again Hermione sat in silence. This story repeating itself in her head, "So how do you feel about it now?" There was no judgment in her voice, just a genuine curiosity.

"I don't hate myself," He replied, tonelessly, "if that's what you're asking, I'm not quite so spiteful as I let on. But I do have to live with what I've done. Every day."

"I was just wondering what it would be like for me, after…well…you know what I mean."

"Indeed, I do, Hermione," Once again she was startled by the use of her first name, "But what your doing is not something that you would have chosen to do otherwise. If anything, your conscience would be more burdened if you had refused."

"I doubt I'll see it that way when I'm moaning Lucius name." She grumbled.

"No, perhaps not. Although it was not meant to be comforting."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, pausing for a second as if considering something for the first time. "So if you take responsibility for the incident with the Whomping Willow, then why do you hate Sirius, and Professor Lupin so much?"

If Snape was surprised at the change of subject, he showed no indication of it. Instead, he nodded as if impressed that she had mentioned it. "As I said it was important that Potter think of me as the enemy. I would never have let the Dementors at Black, not after I had heard the story, but I had to make you all think that I would. As for the matter of Lupin's resignation in your third year, Potter was never supposed to know who Lupin was, or his relationship with Potter's father. Once he found out who Lupin was, it was decided that Lupin had to leave. It was easier for Lupin to say he was going because I told my students he was a Werewolf, instead of saying that Potter couldn't have contact with him. It also helped my act."

"Why couldn't Harry know who Lupin was?"

"That is something that even Potter does not know, and thus something that I cannot tell you. Not right now, at least. I'm sorry"

"Oh," Hermione replied, "Alright then, why were you even at the Shrieking Shack?"

"Because I believed, as does, the rest of the Wizarding community, that Black had indeed killed the Potters. It was like I said that night, I had seen the map in Lupin's office, and ran out to save you. Noble I know." Hermione grinned at the smirk on his face. "I initially thought that Lupin was in on the plot, helping out his old friend that sort of thing. I also knew about your time turner, and knew that you would be able to save Black once he was brought in. I of course took full credit for his capture, ever the loyal Ministry subject."

"So it was all an act them?" Hermione asked slightly surprised.

"Not all of it. I genuinely don't like Black, and I can't say that I'm Potter or Weasley's biggest fan, and until recently, you certainly had a spot on my least favorite peoples lists. But, I suppose, for the most part, it was."

"Well," Hermione said, forging lightness, "It's nice to see that I'm learning from the best. Granted I already knew that."

"Indeed," Snape briskly brushed off the complement. "Now is there anything else you want to know?"

"No," Hermione replied quickly, "No I think your life story is good for one night."

"I agree, now, I think it would be a good time for you to go to bed. You have a long day tomorrow."

Hermione nodded in agreement, standing up. Walking towards the stairs, she stopped in the doorway. "Thank you," She said, turning around to face the man sitting comfortable in the large chair. "I know that must have been difficult for you, and I appreciate the trust you have bestowed upon me by sharing that. I'm sure it was no easy for you, and I assure you that I will tell no one."

Snape nodded his head, again looking impassive. "Good evening, Miss Granger."

***

The rest of that weekend had lacked any major revelation. Hermione and Severus had developed a sort of intimacy without actually being intimate. Severus had planned various trust games they could engage themselves in. Including making mystery potions for one another, and putting each other under the Imperius curse. That had taken a leap of faith in itself, and Hermione could still remember what it was like to have somebody control her every move. It was emotionally draining for Hermione, and although she couldn't be certain, she was fairly confident that it had had the same effect on Severus. When she had gotten home to her own flat that Sunday night, she had soaked in the bath tube until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, and then crawled into bed, deciding that for the most part, the weekend had been a success. If nothing else she had found a new respect for her old Potions Master, and from respect came trust.

And she would eventually trust him completely, the Hermione of the present knew. As she had been reliving the past she had completed her journal entry for the day. Her favorite part, being her gushing praise of Lucius' "overly large masculine member". 'Well,' she figured, she wasn't about to stress over whether or not her diary entries were eloquent. She had enough on her plate as it was.

Blowing out the candle beside her bed, Hermione rolled over into the middle of the large bed, and cuddled up to one of the full body pillows she had found. She quickly fell asleep.

***


Next Chapter: A meeting at Dumbledore's, with Lupin, Black, Snape, things are bound to get out of hand.

Authors Notes: I'm very sorry that it took me so long to update. I would like to blame it on FanFiction, but that would just be lying. I hope that I kind of make up for it with the length of the chapter, it is by far, and I stress that, the longest. Once again thank you to my wonderful betas Stephani and Alex, they do a wonderful job (sometimes) and I appreciate them taking time out of there overly taxing lives to help me out. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed for Chapter Four, Sienna of Lothlorien, Viola girl2, god_is_canadian, lily_bear, jumping bean, Helena_handbasket, Fiery Slut.

As for my take on everyone's favorite Potions Master. I don't necessarily think that the books imply that Snape was particularly well liked at any point in his life, but for the most part all of our information has come from Sirius, and so it might be somewhat biased. Besides, I get bored with Snape being this self-loathing man who hates the world, and the majority of the people in it. So I decided to do something different. I do, however, think that he would have been well liked by his fellow Slytherin's, and if he was jealous of James' Quidditch abilities, as Lupin says in the Shrieking Shack in the third book, then it is equally likely that he was on the his own house team. Also, I figure Snape was acting with Dumbledore's knowledge and consent at the end of the third book when he tells the Slytherins that Lupin is a Werewolf. If Snape wasn't he would have been jeopardizing his own job, and I doubt Dumbledore would stand for that type of spitefulness being demonstrated by his teaching staff, unless of course it was with his consent.