Hermione lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. While in his mind, she had shielded herself from anything but making it through without flinching--the slightest blanch he would have taken as a sign of weakness and surrender. That wore off quickly as she had made it to her room, and she was hit by what she had seen so hard that she didn't even hear Crookshanks yowling, Hermione? Are you all right?

She sat up abruptly, still shivering, despite Warming Charms and multiple blankets. He was a murderer. Her Potions teacher, her mentor, had been a cold-blooded killer when he was barely older than she was now. The images came back, swarming her brain. No, he hadn't raped; he hadn't killed children. But he had stood by and done nothing, a little disconcerted but trying to dismiss it as the fortunes of war until…until what? What had made him come to his senses and go to Professor Dumbledore?

She felt more frightened and alone than she ever had in her life. Before tonight, before what she had seen and experienced, she had clung to her illusions of the Death Eaters as merely misguided, able to be convinced to the right side. After all, she had reasoned; if Professor Snape had seen the light and come back to the right side, didn't that indicate that most Death Eaters were just…mistaken?

The security of those illusions had been brutally ripped away; the evil no longer distant and formless. She had been right there with the blood, the screams, and the pain. She knew exactly what they did, and the pleasure they took in it. They weren't misguided, they were monsters. And he had been one of them.

She had worked with Snape these past few months, begun to trust him, almost like him. But the same voice that calmly helped guide her through her potion had shouted the Killing Curse. She had never thought of herself as particularly sheltered, but she was shivering in shock right now, wide-awake in terror of what she had seen.

How could she face him again without the words of him calmly torturing that Auror ringing in her ears? Perhaps he hadn't been as depraved as the rest, but he had still been there, and willingly executed his duties. Some part of her had secretly believed that he had managed to avoid that, never killed, never caused injury as a Death Eater. Naïve, certainly, but she had hoped.

Nothing seemed clear right now. Brilliant, sarcastic Snape was a murderer. Irksome, whiny Draco Malfoy was a rapist. Sirius Black had been something close to a bully. And she, the Gryffindor genius, had turned to something darker. Everything was a muddled shade of grey instead of the black and white it had been before, and it was frightening. She felt like she was suddenly drowning in the morass of fear and terror, and nary a lifeline was in sight.

She still wanted to spy--she wanted to make her days count for something besides the Head Girl badge and perfect NEWTs. That she was determined to do. But did she dare admit it wasn't the Death Eaters she feared half so much now, as she feared the man in whom she would have to place her trust? He had betrayed the Death Eaters; would he betray her?

No, something said sharply. He turned back because he realized that his path lead to nothing good. Perhaps he did have his own peculiar honor, but it made her no less disturbed by what she had seen. If she wished to work with him, either in the laboratory or as a spy, she would have to completely rebuild what she thought she had known about him and start from true foundations.

Like gathering the pieces of a puzzle, she seized the few tidbits she knew of him. Sirius Black had been unkind to him. He had been a Death Eater. He had killed and tortured, but felt disgust at the excesses of his fellows. He had turned away from the darkness at great risk. He now wanted to defeat Voldemort, no matter the cost to himself. It's not much to go from, she thought. She still felt uneasy, trying to reconcile the young Death Eater killing with detachment to the man she had seen with eyes full of self-loathing and pain at the memories of what he was.

Still a little sick at heart, she tried to sleep, mind filled with the images she had seen that night. She could only go forward, though, not back to the innocent girl she had been. This would definitely take time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Snape sighed as he awoke the next morning. She was a bloody stubborn idiot; he wasn't surprised if she had gone straight to her room and started screaming hysterically from what she had seen. But she had courage in spades; he'd give her that. Something in him had revolted at stripping away her innocence in such a way, but then he had grimly reminded himself, We cannot afford to shelter them. Not when they'll be facing such evil in just a short time. They must be prepared. And she had effectively demanded it. Not that it made him feel any better, or quashed the feeling of self-loathing that always came with the old memories.

He sat down in an armchair before the fire, staring into the heart of the flames and trying to forget, but the names and faces swam through his mind. Gerald Meridius. Perpetua MacIvor. Ben Saker… They were old deaths, but ones that hurt more with the passage of time as his regrets for his wasted youth grew and grew.

He was barely aware of the nudging against his legs until he looked down and saw that Hermione's cat--Miss Granger's cat, he corrected himself. In his mind last night he had called her Hermione, but she was yet his student. Well, whatever he would call her, "damn stubborn Gryffindor" yet being foremost to mind at the moment, her cat was here obviously trying to get his attention.

"Yes?" he said, trying not to sound impatient. "How did you get in?"

I let him in, Tosca volunteered, landing on the perch by his elbow.

"Crookshanks, is it?" he said, staring down at the ginger-furred beast, noticing he was a somewhat pug-faced, smug-looking thing, with strangely bowed legs.

The cat noticed the scrutiny and said in a rather abashed tone, Hermione has an odd fondness for the…rejects of the world. Yes, I'm Crookshanks.

"I gather she did not pass a pleasant night," he dryly understated.

She sat awake for quite some time, Crookshanks agreed. She's determined to go through with it, and if you don't mind my saying so, it's rather stupid to keep thinking you can put her off. Once she takes to something, she does it all the way.

He smiled a little. "What was it her fourth year…with the house elf liberation movement?" He tried to remember the acronym. "She certainly took to that with a vengeance," he smiled wearily.

SPEW, Tosca spoke up, laughing. I remember that! What a mess.

Crookshanks pointedly cleared his throat and continued. Anyhow--do you mind if I call you Severus? You're not my professor; that's for certain. So, Severus, get used to her being around. She's not giving up on you, though she's going to tread a little more cautiously. I don't know exactly what you showed her, but she seems to have aged years overnight.

"Tread more cautiously? As well she should." He shook his head. "Idealism without caution is what gets people killed." His voice dropped low in remembrance. "She has that--or had it."

Yes, well, Tosca said. It was the girl's choice, Severus. You can't blame yourself for showing her.

She doesn't hold it against you for showing her, Crookshanks agreed, collapsing in a heap on the rug in front of the fire, looking quite at home. She's just…it's that youthful naïveté of thinking professors are really nothing less than perfect. She knew you had been with the Death Eaters, but I don't think she even remotely thought of what they--or you--had done. She knows now, so this is your fresh start with her. Don't waste it, he said rather haughtily.

About time, Tosca added dryly. He's so convinced he can't let anybody know who or what he was. Well, Sev, here's your chance to prove yourself wrong. She knows, and she hasn't run screaming in fear off to the next shire.

"What is this?" he asked impatiently. "An advice session from bloody animals?"

Tosca would have smirked if she had lips, he was sure. Well, humans certainly haven't applied themselves to solving your problems since you don't let them near you. We're the best you've got. Get used to it.

He muttered something rather foul. "I had no intention of treating her any differently," he said defensively, feeling like a small boy being lectured by his headmaster. "Now, Crookshanks, thank you."

The cat padded towards the door, calling a flippant, You're welcome, over his shoulder. He shut the door behind the cat, startled to hear flapping wings behind him and Tosca calling a greeting.

Draco Malfoy's eagle owl, Icarus, perched on the back of his favorite armchair, looking exhausted after a long flight from Malfoy Manor. Master Snape, I have a message, he hooted.

Snape retrieved the letter from Icarus' leg and idly gestured the tired bird over to the table, conjuring some water. Icarus gratefully drank and filched a biscuit from the plate, messily eating while Snape broke the seal and opened the scroll. Told me to deliver it as fast as I possibly could, the owl said through a full mouth.

He scanned briefly, noticing the messy handwriting was even worse than usual, as though Draco had written with a very shaky hand.

Professor Snape,

My father is sending me back from the holidays early, since he was called away to…well, I won't say here. Mother really doesn't want me around, so I will be back to Hogwarts tomorrow.

Something occurred over the holiday that I must speak with you about, urgently. Please don't reply, sir: I don't want Father or Mother knowing I wrote this. I will come and see you when I am back.

Draco Malfoy

Did he dare admit relief swept over him at the note? Obviously young Malfoy was referring to what had happened the night before. He could save another of the Slytherins, thank God.

He looked at Icarus. "How was he when he sent you?"

Oh, in a state, sir, Icarus said, shaking his head. Woke up screaming this morning, and he was jumpy as a grasshopper. Shaking like a leaf, and his eyes--well, if I never see that look again, I won't be too put out. My guess is that something happened last night. I was hunting, but Mister Malfoy had one of his--ah--gatherings.

"Thank you, Icarus," he said sincerely. Altogether too bloody bad that Draco couldn't understand Icarus, or he could have had the owl take back a message to relay orally. "Keep an eye on him, and I will see you again tomorrow when he returns."

Icarus gave a hoot of acknowledgment and took wing, heading out the window. He turned back to Tosca.

What happened? the gyrfalcon asked, regarding him intently. Young Draco found being a junior Death Eater not to his taste? I'm surprised. She knew as well as he did how Draco Malfoy was. But she hadn't seen him last night. Snape knew how the boy must feel--he felt the self-disgust at his weakness in not resisting the evil nearly daily.

Wearily, he told her. She wasn't surprised, having seen some of the Death Eater's gatherings, but expressed hope that this would perhaps turn the Malfoy heir to a staunch ally. Considering the son of his top Death Eater was the closest Voldemort had to an heir of his own, this would be quite a loss to him.

He reached for the latest edition of the potions journals delivered that month, taking his mind from Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy to the simple, uncluttered world of simmering cauldrons.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was down in the dungeons later that morning, trying to refine the Solventus Potion, figuring that perhaps the chemical interaction of one of its ingredients had reduced the potency of the anti-memory. The trouble was that there was nothing written upon the properties of a Pensieved memory's inverse. As far as she knew, she was the first to use the Inverse Charm in such a manner, so the matter was largely touch-and-go, unfortunately. She had drawn out the memory of him saying "Grey, warm, parrot" and inverted it, experimenting with the chemical properties of the anti-memory. She couldn't just create a new Solventus out of the blue and test it; it was more likely to poison her than anything else.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," came the quiet voice behind her. She spun so quickly that she nearly knocked over her cauldron. She hadn't expected him this morning at all: not until Monday, for that matter!

She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that he was a changed man. Give him a fair chance, Granger, now that you know where he's been. "Good morning, sir."

He seemed a bit taken aback that she didn't seem afraid. There was actually a tentative hint of a smile on his lips for a moment. "How is the potion coming along?"

"I'm trying to figure out the properties of the anti-memory so I know what I can safely react it with," she sighed. "The composition of a Pensieved memory is known, but I'm not sure about its inverse."

"Keep at it," he nodded. "You've made good progress." The words from Snape were becoming a bit more familiar. He was sparing in his praise, which meant she valued it all the more when he did dispense it.

They worked over their cauldrons in the familiar routine, he replying he was making a fresh batch of Veritaserum at the request of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Janney. She was sure he remembered what the Death Eaters had used the potion for. "Sir?" she said. "I need some sea cucumber gelatin. I think it's in your office?" Another fragile ingredient, sea cucumber gelatin needed to be kept in a pressurized container; much as the creatures it came from were under pressure in the deep sea. Otherwise it would basically turn into a sticky liquid.

He actually chuckled slightly. "Fourth shelf, eighth row, front jar," he said. "Black jar. I trust you won't filch anything this time?"

"No, sir," she assured, raising her eyebrows a little at his turned back. It was gracefully said: he would trust her. He had to, if they were to spy together. She went to his office and retrieved the sea cucumber gelatin, saying a quick greeting to Tosca.

Setting the heavy jar down by her cauldron, she peered over at the Veritaserum in his cauldron. It was in a smoky blue crystalline form now. He added dragon's blood gradually and it turned to a clear liquid. She decided to venture something bothering her. "Sir? Aren't we required to--that is--shouldn't the authorities be informed about that girl?" And Draco? was the unspoken continuation.

"I have already spoken to Headmaster Dumbledore about the girl," he said quietly, "and young Malfoy. Don't get above yourself, Miss Granger. You don't know the game yet. Before you go and tear off on him, Draco Malfoy is returning to Hogwarts tomorrow."

Tomorrow? she stared at him. How could she stand to pass him in the hallways, eat at the same table with him, as inevitably happened at Christmas? A boy who had raped an innocent girl and watched her be killed?

"And before you get into a righteous Gryffindor huff," he continued in a voice almost too low to be heard, "I received a note from him this morning, and it indicated that he will be our ally from now on, Miss Granger."

She quietly reproached herself. If she was going to give Snape a second chance, she owed Draco that. Not that it would be easy considering how he had been to her over their years at Hogwarts. "Are you expecting me," she said, unable to keep from a little sarcasm, "to be his friend?"

"No, Miss Granger; that would be quite suspicious, and would also prompt explanation of how you know his situation, which quite frankly is none of his business right now. I intend for him to finish his time here acting as he has for the past years. I would ask, however, that you not be…hostile towards him. His owl informs me that he is quite the wreck this morning."

"Yes, sir," she said. This gave her much more to think about. They turned back to their potions then, with no need for further speech: the master and apprentice hard at work.