A/N: I haven't checked this as thoroughly as I normally would, but it's late and I'm tired so please excuse mistakes, except of course if there are any massive glaring ones, obviously.

Thanks for the reviews, they're all appreciated and some of them are really truly inspiring!

I don't own Harry Potter!

Hermione returned to Azkaban prison three days later, hurrying up the slate path with her head bent against a vicious wind that whipped her hair around her face and snapped at her robes as they billowed wildly around her small frame. It was not, however, raining on that particular day; something that she was grateful for as she was not sure that she would be able to stand it. She had not bothered to cover her face with the hood of her cloak, and had regretted it from the moment she had stepped off the boat – her eyes were streaming and stinging as she passed underneath the heavy portcullis and found herself standing in front of the impressive steel-bound door that was the main entrance to the prison.

She had only been waiting a handful of minutes when the door was hauled open to reveal the prison guard from her last visit, trying to mask the look of curiosity on his face with one of annoyance.

"You again?" He asked, slightly incredulously.

"Yes," Hermione said grimly, stepping into the entranceway waiting for the door to close behind her. She handed him her wand without being prompted. "Where is he?"

"Now wait a minute!" The guard was flustered. "You can't just go barging off to see him, there are protocols you know!"

Hermione's mouth was set in a hard line. "It's confidential," she hissed. "So why don't you run off and confirm it with the Ministry?"

The guard looked at her a little more closely.

"I'll do that." He huffed, and disappeared at a fast enough walk for Hermione to realise that her presence in the prison for a second time had unsettled the poor man. She sighed, her eyes darkening, and waited.

The guard returned barely five minutes later, and after running the Secrecy Sensor over her with what Hermione considered extreme haste, he ushered her towards a different doorway from the one he had shown her to previously, a door which opened to reveal a winding staircase that seemed to twist on forever and eventually stopped to reveal the top floor of the prison. It looked identical, Hermione realised wearily, to the rest of the prison.

She was marched to a cell halfway down the hushed corridor, which was silently checked and unlocked before the guard would look at her again, seemingly fighting a silent battle.

"He's in there," he said eventually. "I'll wait…"

"…At the end of the corridor, yes. Thank you."

He grunted at her and stomped away. Hermione closed her eyes briefly in his wake and rubbed at the bridge of her nose fractiously, wishing fiercely that she was not standing where she was, doing what she was about to do.

But it could not be helped. There was nothing for it. She pushed open the door to this new cell and her red-rimmed eyes immediately fell upon Severus Snape, who was once again sleeping, but this time upon a bench that protruded from the wall and was topped with a grey mattress. He slept on his side, facing out towards her, his thin body curved into a foetal position with his arms wrapped around his knees for warmth although it was noticeably warmer in this cell than the one on the lower levels.

Hermione could see that he was cleaner, and his hair had been cut to shoulder length, albeit with a clumsy and inexperienced hand that left it uneven and ravaged in places. Snape's face, which she could just make out beneath a covering of his hair, was screwed up as though he was in unspeakable pain.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, staring down at him as he slept, but her heart was hammering loudly in her chest as she sunk to her knees next to the bench and reached out tentatively, not sure where to touch him in case he lashed out at her. She needn't have worried, her hand was hovering above his shoulder when his eyes suddenly flickered open and he shifted away from her, slowly uncurling himself as he did so.

"Auror…Granger?" He murmured, pushing his hair away from his face in order to see her more clearly, but remaining in a horizontal position.

"Hello Severus," Hermione whispered, and was mortified as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes.

Turning her head away from his gaze, she struggled to control herself and the feelings that were spiralling dangerously out of control; breathing deeply and curling her hands into fists at her sides. When she could finally look him in the eye again, she could see that he knew what it was she was about to tell him.

"I'm so sorry, Severus," she choked out. "I'm so sorry."

His expression remained impassive, and she found the will to continue.

"I did everything that I could, I tried everything but no one would listen! Kingsley Shacklebolt dismissed what I told him out of hand, he refused to even pass on my concerns to the Minister for Magic and when I tried to tell him myself…" Hermione was briefly transported back to the fierce argument she had had with the Minister's secretary the previous afternoon. The stupid woman had been adamant that the Minister was away on a 'very important' dragon symposium in Hungary and could absolutely not be disturbed, especially not by a 'deranged Auror with a half-brained theory' that made her a 'disgrace to the service'. "I left him my report asking him to contact me urgently, I even tried to floo him but I couldn't get through! The Auror service has forbidden me to go to Hungary to speak to him directly. The Minister is out of the country until late next week at the earliest." She finished heavily.

"Will he speak to you then?" Snape enquired quietly, and without enthusiasm. Hermione's eyes widened.

"I'm afraid that even if he did, it would be…" she trailed off.

"It would be what?" He prompted after a silence that Hermione had used to cover her face with her hands.

"…It would be too late, Severus," her voice was muffled. "The ministry issued a notice for your execution late last night. They're planning on doing it in three days time and there is nothing," she slid her hands away from her face, revealing a horrified expression, "that I can do about it."

"I presume I am not supposed to know that?" Snape's face and the tone of his voice betrayed no emotion at all, and Hermione did not know how he managed it. She shook her head.

"They've sent me to tell you," she whispered. "I've got the notice with me…the Minster for Magic signed it personally before he left England. They intend to take you from here to the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry and…they want you to pass through the veil, Severus! If you won't do it willingly you will be…the word that Shacklebolt used was 'coerced.'"

He sat up slowly, wincing a little before leaning back against the wall. From her position on the floor, Hermione stared up at him desperately.

"Sit with me, Miss Granger," he said heavily, and she complied, turning her face to stare into his, which was frighteningly blank.

"Calm yourself, Hermione," he said tonelessly. "I did not expect that you would succeed in your attempt to have my punishment withdrawn. I have accepted that this is to be my fate. A great wizard told me once that to the well-organised mind, death is but the next adventure." A single tear slid down Hermione's cheek and she brushed it angrily away with a grey-clad sleeve. "I believe him, Miss Granger, and I am prepared to follow him into whatever it is that lies beyond."

"But I don't want…" she cried brokenly. "You don't deserve to die!"

The whisper of a smile crossed Snape's face.

"You are so young, Miss Granger, and you have so much ahead of you. What you want is irrelevant here…no matter how much you want it, and as for deserving to die…I believe you said it yourself during our last meeting. If the Ministry thinks that I should be punished for what I did then I will be punished. If that punishment is my own death then I accept that, even though I do not embrace it as I perhaps should."

"But the Ministry doesn't know what you did!" She was crying freely now, and did not bother to hide her distress. Snape reached out suddenly and grasped her shoulders, giving her a little shake.

"Miss Granger…Hermione…It doesn't matter any more. No…" He saw the argument in her eyes. "You have done more, much more, than I would ever have expected you to…you should know that it doesn't matter that you failed, it only matters that you tried. Death is a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favour."

"No…please…" she slumped against him, heedless of the danger that her colleagues would have said this would have undoubtedly put her in, and felt him hesitate for only a moment before he put his arms around her shaking form and held her. She spilled hot, angry tears onto the front of his worn robes and balled her hands into fists against his thin chest and he said nothing, only holding her still within his embrace. She did not know how much time passed in this way, but her tears dwindled as her shock and pain began to recede, and eventually she pulled away from him. He let her go easily and his face was contemplative.

"This is wrong." She said softly, but her words were clear and firm. "What they are going to do…it is so wrong."

Snape had opened his mouth to reply when there was a clattering from the corridor outside of his cell, which Hermione identified as footsteps. Hurriedly getting to her feet and wiping at her blotchy face with her sleeve, she touched the suddenly apprehensive man lightly on the shoulder and stepped quickly to the cell door.

In the corridor, she almost collided with her prison guard, who was flushed and breathing heavily and in a state of some agitation.

"Auror Granger…" He wheezed at her, "The Minister for Magic…he's here!"

Hermione instantly felt as though she had been dropped from a great height, she inhaled sharply.

"He's here now?" She asked, urgently. The guard nodded.

"He followed me up the stairs."

There was no time for Hermione to do anything, not that there was a plan of any sort formed in her head in the first place, because even as the guard had spoken there was another clatter of feet on stone, and the Minister for Magic was striding towards her with a face like thunder and bright green eyes that were full of anger. Without looking back at the cell or its occupant, Hermione started towards him, full of panicky fear.

"Hermione!" Harry Potter, the youngest ever Minister for Magic, was white with rage. In his right hand, Hermione saw the hastily written report that she had lodged with his secretary the day before. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're playing at? They've dragged be back from Hungary for this!"

"Hello Minister," she said nervously, and his frown deepened, almost throwing his scar into relief.

"I've asked you not to call me that, Hermione, it's ridiculous. As is this!" He shook the report for emphasis. "You don't," his voice noticeably lowered as the guard approached them, "actually believe any of this, do you?"

Hermione breathed sharply through her nose, and then grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and yanked him into the closest cell. He still looked angry, but now he also looked confused. Hermione did not give him the chance to complain.

"Harry, I wrote it. I gave it to you. Of course I believe it."

"What's he done to you?" Harry was hostile. "Are you even the real Hermione…" he reached out to touch her but she slapped his hand away, furiously.

"Harry, stop it! I'm me, all right?"

He looked at her expression, and didn't contradict her, instead returning his attention to her report.

"He's lying, Hermione, to get out of what he's got coming."

"He's not! I know you don't understand but-"

"-This is seven years' worth of planning, seven years of weaving the most plausible tale he could think of!"

"No, Harry. I thought so too, at first, but you haven't seen him, you haven't spoken to him…he's not lying."

"He's a filthy coward!" Harry spat. Hermione's eyes filled with tears again. Harry looked aghast.

"He's not a coward…please, Harry, listen to me! You have to speak to him…he doesn't deserve to die!"

The Minister for Magic seemed lost for words as one of his best friends struggled not to cry for a man who he hated with every fibre of his being.

"I don't understand you." He said coldly, once Hermione had composed herself once more. "You're the cleverest witch that I've ever known and…"

Hermione was fumbling in the pockets of her robes, frantically searching for something. Finally, she removed her hand from a hidden pocket and showed Harry what it was that lay in her open palm. A small glass stoppered bottle, containing a small amount of totally clear liquid. She thrust it into the Minister's hands.

"Here. Veritaserum." Aurors visiting Azkaban were allowed to carry a small amount of the truth serum with them, for 'interrogation purposes' according to the ministry guidelines. It had never been used at Snape's trial because he had admitted his guilt; there had been no need for it.

Harry looked at her, bewildered.

"You are not suggesting that I…"

She nodded.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Harry…" her voice was gentle. "You need to know the truth, you need to know what really happened that night. If you ask him he'll tell you, I know he will."

Her friend's expression remained uncertain.

"Please, Harry. You have nothing to lose."

Harry Potter's face became grim. He pressed the Veritaserum gently back into her hand.

"All right then, I will. But I won't need that."

He wheeled about and Hermione listened to his footsteps carrying him away from her and towards Snape's cell. Silence descended, and she waited.

Hermione did not know how long Harry spent speaking with Snape, but she had settled herself upon the bed in the cell and was leaning against the wall and drifting into sleep when the sound of footsteps awoke her fully once more. Harry walked into the cell, his face ashen, and sat down heavily next to her.

"I never thought that I would say this," the man shook his head. "But I believe him."

There was a pause as Hermione let out a breath that felt as though she had been holding in for hours. Harry's face was a picture of disbelief and shock, Snape's revelations had obviously hit him hard, and he was shaking.

"It's the right decision, Harry," she squeezed his arm. He looked unconvinced.

"Is it? I would rather see him dead for the things he's done…I think the Wizengamot would as well…But taking his life for Dumbledore's doesn't seem to matter any more, it seems…well, pointless."

"What are you going to do? Leave him here?" Hermione felt the tiniest stirrings of the emotion she recognised as hope.

Harry frowned.

"No."

"No?"

"I'm going to send him into exile." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Exile?"

"He'll be free, in a manner of speaking, to pursue whatever life he wishes to. But I will not let him do it here. He can choose the country, and I want him gone tonight, Hermione. I never want to see him again, but I would rather not have his death on my conscience, either."

Hermione thought that she understood. It was not as though Snape could ever hope to live peaceably in the wizarding community of Britain, not now. What Harry was offering was probably more than he could have hoped for.

"Did he accept your terms?" She asked him quietly.

"Yes," Harry got to his feet. "I'm sending him now. I can't tell you where he's chosen, you understand? You are not to go looking for him, either." He warned. She nodded. "Come on."

They walked together back to the cell that held Severus Snape, who was pacing the width of his cell. He flicked a glance at Hermione that was full of things she could not interpret fully, but she understood his main intention plainly enough.

Thank you.

Beside her, Harry had fashioned a portkey from a handkerchief and was staring down at it, seemingly lost in thought. Shaking his head, he held it out to Snape who took it without hesitation. At the same time, he produced Snape's wand, which was handed over with more than a little reticence on Harry's part. Snape though, barely spared the rod of wood a glance as he pocketed it.

"Mr Potter-" He began.

"-I don't want your thanks," Harry would not look at him. "Take your freedom. Go."

Snape's eyes met Hermione's a final time, and she managed a half smile, thinking of the words that Harry had spoken to her only minutes ago. Never seeing him again was compromise enough for his life, she thought. Knowing that he was alive in the world, somewhere, was all that she would know from this point onwards.

It would be enough.

It had to be.

Ten seconds after taking the portkey, Severus Snape simply faded away from the spot where he stood. It was hard to believe that he had ever been there.

Before he had completely disappeared, Hermione was sure she had seen him smile.

…

Goodbye Severus.

…

Turning to her shaken best friend, she took his arm gently.

"Come on Harry," her voice was strong. "It's time to go."

TBC...a little bit

A/N 2: Death is a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favour is a quote from the Roman philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca the younger (4 BC – AD 65).

I'm not sure if I should have split this chapter in two…

The epilogue will follow in a few days' time.

I'm not sure Harry ever will become Minister for Magic, I just thought it was a nifty plot device.

Hermione's reaction to Severus' impending death might seem a little OTT, but I wanted her to express her pain at a situation she could not control or redeem…I thought she would feel very hurt and upset by the idea that a man could die without others being aware of the true nature of his 'crime'. She is still quite a young woman in this story. If that doesn't work so well, I apologise.