NOTE: I re-uploaded this chapter after Tammy pointed out a name mistake. Always check your facts or have reviewers who know what they're talking about. Priceless.
NOTE 2: Bloody hell, Avery Goodun caught a mistake too. This chapter probably should've been beta'd by someone less lazy than me. It has been yet again re-uploaded. Thanks Tammy and Avery!
Well, everyone seemed to quite enjoy last chapter! Yay!
Tammy was my super-quick reviewer! Hermione's parents are indeed poo's. I like that word. I actually wasn't going to make them as mean as I did, but that's just how they turned out. I'd also like to point out that despite the bunny exodus, you've already written something original, unless I was reading something written by someone else and posted on your account.
Duj: Thanks for the review! I didn't worry too much about making her parents canon since we only see them all of twice (hmm, they're never around…why doesn't it bother them that Hermione spends all her time, including her summers, at school or with the Weasleys?). I actually mentally had this idea that with her parents as I wrote them, the reason they went shopping with her was to 'make an appearance' because it's appropriate.
SlytherinsDarkAngel: I'm just one of those people who cannot conceive of normal happy loving family life. Probably because my family's just too crazy.
Avery Goodun: Extra cookies for you! They do indeed get a Land Rover!
Fiona McKinnon (aka Pams): Glad my 'rents aren't like that either!
Danielle (aka Hand3): This chapter's for you since you're computer-less as of Friday.
Lil: Always love the reviews…
Reflection in Fire: Wow, your message was awesome. Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoy my stuff…

For the record, I'm only ever posting on ff and I tried posting on Ashwinder and it's just a pain in the arse. I bloody well give up on that…requires way too much computer competence. Laziness has become my way of life…

Once again, my goal is to beat my previous record 119 reviews on a story, so if you're reading this, leave me some love! I owe sugar cookies with blue frosting to everyone who's been so gracious as to review and to all those who loyally continue reviewing every chapter. You guys rock!

aimes (who needs to pack up her apartment)


"Where are we?"

"That's Vasili's house. His nephew, Vanya, said he'd meet us inside this evening at seven. He's putting together the gear I asked him for…I emailed him a list from your apartment. He told me he'd leave food and other things he thought we'd need."

Snape nodded. "Let's go inside and get the heat started," he suggested. "I'd prefer to avoid freezing to death in the middle of Russia with you." Hermione shivered once more, burrowing against his side.

"Good idea," she said, teeth chattering. She pulled a key from her pocket and stepped onto the walkway, pulling him with her.

The house was perhaps five degrees warmer than the outside. Hermione switched on the heat, turning the thermostat all the way up. The heater clunked three times but didn't start, much to her chagrin. She went to the living room where Snape had a roaring fire going, supplemented with a quick heating charm that he intended to remove when the Russian arrived. He had removed his coat and boots and set them near the fire to warm up. Hermione shrugged off her own coat and walked over to an old harp in the corner and ran her fingers up the strings with a wistful smile.

"This is the harp I learned on," she said, reminiscing about the day nearly thirteen years before that she'd walked into Vasili's London studio and sat down in front of the instrument and began to play. She'd no idea then that the harp was worth several million dollars, it had simply drawn her. She remembered playing part of Maurice Ravel's Opus 50, from memory. He'd called her a prodigy and she'd looked at him as though he was crazy. The start of a relationship that would shape her life.

"You know, when I was little, my mum told me I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket." She laughed as she sat down and played Opus 50, the same bit she'd played for Vasili Barokov all those years ago. "Told me I had the musical talent of howling dog." She stopped and stood abruptly, running a hand down the smooth wood. Snape sat on the couch watching her silently and she turned to him, catching his gaze. "To this day, she has no idea."

Hermione walked over to the bar and picked up the bottle of vodka resting on the counter, as well as the note it anchored. "'The only way to keep warm in Russia,'" she read. She poured two glasses and brought them to the couch, grabbing the bottle as an afterthought. Her coat and boots were tossed next to his before she curled up on the sofa, staring at the fire through her glass.

"At the risk of sparking some latent and misguided familial loyalty mechanism, your parents are idiots," Snape said, sipping at the vodka. He reached down and pulled out the chicken pesto sandwiches he'd prepared earlier and put in the bag. He handed her one and took one for himself.

"Ah, chicken sandwiches and vodka. All is right with the world," Hermione deadpanned.

"I'll take it back if you don't want it," he retorted. Hermione laughed. "Have they always been like that?" he asked her after a moment. He was hesitant to bring her thoughts back to her parents but realized that she had probably not stopped thinking about them since they'd left.

"My mother probably would not have noticed she'd given birth except that she went into labor at an important dinner party," she responded facetiously. "I've been hearing about that one pretty much since I could understand full sentences. They're very concerned with keeping up appearances and sticking to their busy social schedule. Beyond requiring that I be as close to perfect as humanly possible to serve their occasional need for a trophy child, I might as well not exist."

"It explains a lot," he said thoughtfully.

"Ah yes, you refer to my people-pleasing tendencies. Took me years to approach the rest of my life the way I approach music…as something for myself and not to gain the approval of my parents."

"What did it?" He was genuinely curious. When he'd been young he too had craved the approval of others, but eventually he simply gave up and realized that the world would never accept him.

"One day I just realized that I didn't even want their approval. I also realized that I had based my entire life on the approval of others—Harry, Ron, McGonagall, Dumbledore. The only people I've ever had truly honest relationships with are Vasili and Ginny Weasley. For some reason I never needed approval from them…or maybe I was afraid of what would happen if I even tried for it. When Vasili died…I had to face some things that I probably would've avoided forever. I put my friendships to the test….and not all of them passed," she said quietly. She finished the sandwich and crumpled the wrapper, putting it on the coffee table next to the vodka.

"I noticed some tension between you and Molly near the end of the war," he noted. "It was hard to miss. I assumed that you broke the Weasley boy's heart." Something about the way he said it made her glance up at him sharply but his expression was bland and expectant. He was waiting for her response.

"She had it in her head that Ron and I were going to get married and I was going to turn into a sweet housewife with five kids and a dog. I told her it wasn't what I wanted from life…well, it got ugly, that's all I'll say. She thought I was looking down on her choices in life." Hermione looked away from him.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I'll admit that nearly everyone expected you to marry Weasley," he replied trying not to sneer. "I rather believe that Molly sometimes questions her own decisions in life. She was merely projecting that onto you." Hermione recognized it as a flash of insight from someone who had frequently questioned his life decisions.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Molly needs to have more faith in herself sometimes. Yeah, nearly everyone did expect me to end up with him. Unfortunately Ron's not my type. I love him. As a brother. I dated him more because everyone expected me to than anything else. I have this tortured history of making foolish dating choices, though Ron was actually one of my better picks."

"Don't we all?" he replied morosely.

"Regina," she said softly. "Tell me about her."

He sighed and downed the rest of his vodka. Hermione had rarely seen him so open and communicative. She placed her hand on his gently. "Tell me about her," she repeated quietly.

"Regina de la Gris. Daughter of Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore and Intended of Voldemort. He actually proposed to her, can you believe that?" The sneer on his face was self-mocking.

"Wow, she's got quite the history already. What was she to you?"

"My…well, let's just say someone had to introduce her to Voldemort, right? Regina and I were lovers. Before I realized that she was quite possibly as evil as he was. They were made for one another. Of course I never actually trusted her completely…she never knew I was really working for Albus. Something stopped me from saying it every time."

"So much for pillow talk," Hermione said wryly. "But it does say something positive about your instincts."

"You know what really gets me? She was with Voldemort from day one."

"With…oh with him. Ew," she shuddered. Then it really hit her. "Oh ew! Sharing is not caring." She looked at him with a slightly disgusted expression. "You must have vomited." She pulled a face before realizing what she'd just said to him. Cringing, Hermione looked up at him sheepishly.

"I vomited several times," he admitted, still stuck in the memories and barely noticing her behavior. It was his turn to shudder. "In retrospect, however, it served me well. She was convinced I told her everything, and thus trusted me implicitly. And Voldemort trusted her implicitly. Therefore…" he gestured carelessly as he poured himself another glass of vodka. He poured her some more as well. "Our motto in the first war was no different from our motto in the last: whatever it takes." His voice was cold and his expression was bitter. "She asked to meet Voldemort before she knew that I was a double agent. I couldn't risk my position by telling her and I didn't completely trust her. So I led her to the wolves without even trying to save her."

"Whoa, you only introduced her to Voldemort. She was the one who joined him of her own free will and of her own free will she chose to sleep with him. You're not that good." Hermione objected.

"Obviously," he said flatly, bemused.

"Look, it's not your fault she's a crazy bitch, just like it's not Dumbledore's or McGonagall's. And it's definitely not your fault that she likes to sleep with deformed monsters."

"You're not making this better, Hermione," he snapped.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, settling against his body. Snape tensed for a moment, but the vodka had loosened him, and he slid an arm around her comfortably instead of giving her a piece of his mind.

"The worst you can be accused of is having shit taste in women," she reassured him. She yawned widely and rested her head on his chest. "Really shit taste," she chuckled.

"How brilliantly insightful," he grumbled. "In any case, I highly doubt that you can top the foolishness of taking Regina as a lover."

"I dated Viktor Krum. Even worse, I trusted Viktor Krum. At least you can't say the same of Regina. It was nearly the death of me," she pointed out wryly. Suddenly the half-smile vanished from her face and she pulled away from him, eyes downcast and tired.

"Just as what happened with Regina was not my fault, what happened with Krum was not yours," Snape said forcefully, not releasing her. He was not sure why this mattered so much to him…but that was a lie. He knew exactly why it mattered to him. Hermione slumped against him and closed her eyes, remembering the winter of her sixth year.

"He was the first man I ever killed," she said softly. "But not the last."

"I wanted to tell you," he said after a moment. "I tried to keep you away from him but I couldn't do much. He was a favorite of Voldemort and I was in a precarious position. I ran enough risk that you might tell him I was a spy. I always regretted that I could not prevent what happened."

"I always regretted that I was stupid enough to trust him," she replied flatly. "And I regretted…that I was not at all bothered by killing him. I always thought less of myself that I enjoyed killing him."

"Hermione," he began, his voice soft and low and forceful. She went still and he could tell he had her full attention. "After what he did to you, all of us would have enjoyed killing him. Resurrecting Viktor Krum so that we could all have a turn at slaughtering the bastard was a fond fantasy, not only of mine but of Lupin, Potter, and all of the Weasleys."

"The Weasleys wanted to kill him because he hurt Ginny," she replied softly. She would normally never reveal such insecurity but the alcohol had loosened her tongue.

His eyes narrowed. Did she truly think that she mattered so little? If so, then her parents' attitudes toward her had scarred her far more deeply than she realized.

"Krum stunned her for walking in on him and what he was about to do to you and then bound her," he said trying to keep his voice from showing the anger he felt. Anger that she had been hurt, anger that she valued herself so little, anger that he had to deal with this, anger that it was so important to him. "She was a bit bruised from her encounter with him. That hardly warrants murderous thoughts. Lupin said that when he found the two of you, you were silent. Miss Weasley was telling you to undo the binding spell on her but you seemed catatonic, completely unable to move. The way he described the scene…" he didn't want to finish but decided that she had to know what others had seen. "He told me that you were huddled against the fireplace, staring ahead silently. Krum was on the floor a few feet away, dead. Your one of your eyes was swollen nearly shut and even from the door he could tell that the fragile bones in your face had been shattered. Your right hand clutched your wand, despite the fact that your wrist was broken, and your left arm was completely limp. He said that there were bloodstains all over the room and that none of the blood had come from Ginevra or Krum. There was a small pool of blood around you."

"Remus never told me that," she said faintly. "Neither did Ginny. I mean, I was fine eventually…I'd just lost so much blood and I was so frightened. I couldn't function. I heard Ginny calling me, sort of…it was very distant. That time seems so long ago now."

"And when it was done, you were suddenly unbreakable. It was almost frightening for your friends, I believe, but they were proud of you. From what Lupin has told me, Ginevra mostly spoke to him about it and how it affected her. She couldn't bring herself to remind you of what happened. Lupin felt similarly. That is how they became so close. They spoke only to one another about what had happened that night." It seemed the alcohol had loosened both their tongues.

"Well at least something positive came out of that experience. Remus and Ginny are truly happy. …But I still feel a bit off that I was so happy that he was dead," she said tiredly.

"That is something you must deal with on your own and in your own time, Hermione. Perhaps you will begin to understand that relief and happiness are not the same emotion." He turned his attention back to the fire, remembering the first man he'd killed and wondering what he'd felt. It had been so long ago. He had felt relief, he recalled. Relief that the torture was at an end. His father was dead and no one could hurt him….except himself, as it turned out. The irony of it was mind-boggling.

Hermione was quiet, caught in the wave of all that had happened since her fifth year ended. Viktor, the war, the small skirmishes fought so frequently and so viciously. Killing people that had once been fellow students and struggling to keep her head above water in the senseless chaos. And then it was over. They'd survived. It was over; they could all move on with their lives. And they all had. Now they had slipped into some odd but welcome sort of normality and the only real remnants of the war were strong friendships and a profound gratitude for life that seemed to echo throughout the halls of Hogwarts. Theirs was a generation forged into steel by a war that started when they were children and ended when they were either dead or heroes. She was over come by a powerful yawn and exhaustion hit her hard. "Sir?" she mumbled.

"Hm?" he rumbled distantly, still staring at the fire.

"I'm a bit tired. Do you mind terribly if…I…fall…" her breathing evened out and she snuggled against him properly. Snape looked down at her, startled.

"Asleep," he finished wryly for her. He brushed some curls out of her eyes and smiled down at her. After a moment he tugged the afghan draped over the back of the couch onto her sleeping form and tucked it around her. He went back to gazing at the roaring fire, absently stroking her shoulder, reflecting on how strong she was; how strong they had all been. Even Potter and Weasley. The thought made him smile. Who would have ever envisioned him extolling Potter's virtues? Within moments his hand was still and he too was asleep.

Two hours later a ringing noise punched through the fuzz of Hermione's brain. She was comfortable and warm, though her myriad injuries ached a bit. She reached out for her bag and dug for her cell phone.

"Hello?" she mumbled into the phone. "Vanya? An hour? Yeah, great. Thanks. You got the Jeep? Oh, Land Rover. Same thing. Fantastic. See you then. Dosvedanya." Hermione sighed deeply, ready to go back to sleep, but her stomach growled loudly.

"You should eat something," Snape told her without opening his eyes.

"Would that require moving? Because I'm really warm and comfortable where I am."

"Ah yes, but your stomach growling loudly does make it a bit difficult for me to nap," he protested.

"Mmph," she grunted.

"How very eloquent." Snape squeezed her arm gently. "Food, Hermione."

"Bugger," she grumbled, sitting up and passing a hand over her face. He smiled smugly and Hermione shot him a glare before bursting out in laughter as his stomach rumbled as well.

She went to the kitchen, shivering slightly as she moved away from his warmth, and grabbed the fresh fruit Vanya had left, as well as some cheese and crackers. She returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch, facing him. She tossed him an apple, which he caught without hesitation.

"That could be construed as assault," he pointed out.

"Only if I'd hit you," she countered. "Vanya will be here in an hour. I'll start locking in the coordinates of the temple. We're not too far, I should think, from the area where the magical lockout begins. Vasili purposely located his home here." Snape nodded in agreement. Hermione looked away from him pointedly. "Severus…if it comes down to it and I have to kill Regina…" She'd come a long way from the days when killing made her squeamish. She didn't enjoy it but she'd do it if she had to.

"I'll do it, if it comes to that," he said firmly. "She is not your responsibility." His voice was hard and final.

"She's not yours either," Hermione shot back. "So don't do that duty and honor-bound thing on me. If she's got a knife pointed at me, I'm really not going to wait for you so that you can take care of business."

He glared at her. "Do not take that tone with me—"

"If you say young lady I'm going to break this vodka bottle over your head," she warned.

"I was going to say your name, actually, since I happen to know it," he said harshly. She stiffened and he regretted his words instantly.

"Very mature," she said scathingly. She stood and turned her back on him, controlling her anger as well as she could, and walked out of the room.

Snape took a few minutes to berate himself for being a first-class asshole before going to find her. He found her in the dining room standing in front of a picture window and staring at the snow. Snape approached her silently from behind. He could see her hugging herself and he wrapped his arms around her with unnatural speed, giving her no time to react. Hermione struggled for a moment but his grip only tightened.

"What the hell are you doing?" she spat.

"Miss Granger…Hermione…please calm yourself for a moment. I'm sorry. I had no right to say what I did. I apologize for being so thoughtlessly hurtful. Believe it or not, it's not something that comes naturally to me anymore and I feel quite like a heartless monster." He braced himself, noting that if she really wanted to, she could get him in the shins. It had been a long time since he'd let his attitude disintegrate into reflexive cruelty and it felt no better now than it had in the past. In fact it felt a lot worse. He was not a nice man, but neither was he intentionally hurtful any longer.

Hermione relaxed marginally and sighed. "It's alright. It was a low blow, however. You're usually much more intelligent about your insults. Except that time in my fourth year with the teeth. That was pretty low too."

"Yes, well…" He had no real response. He had been a spy and it had been his job to be cruel to her.

Hermione allowed herself to lean back against him. For a moment she wondered if she was becoming too comfortable with him. However 'too comfortable' implied that she had a problem with being so close to him and she, quite simply, had no problems with it at all. She tried to release her anger and remind herself of all that life had taught her about patience and dealing with shortcomings.

"Don't worry, I never confused the actor with the role. Not to mention…well, my teeth were pretty big. As for the name thing…it wouldn't have hurt me if it weren't true. I need to get over it like a big girl," she said dryly. Every day was a work in progress.

"No," he said with uncharacteristic kindness. "You don't. You have a right to be angry about it, you know. You don't have to be Zen-like and accepting about everything. Merlin knows I'm not. And you were right about Regina…she made her own decisions, as I told Albus a few days ago in a strikingly familiar conversation about how he was not responsible for her choices." His voice had taken on its usual sour and mocking tone, but it was directed at himself, not her. Her head was tucked beneath his chin and she watched him watching her in the window.

Hermione grinned and he could see it reflected in the glass. "Hypocrite," she teased.

"Indeed. Can we go back to the living room now? I'm freezing." The dry tone was belied by the gentle expression on his face. She smiled at him but her face was shadowed.

"Yeah," she replied softly, turning away from the window. The smile faded. She didn't look at him as she brushed past him to return to the living room. Snape frowned unhappily, irritated with himself. His irritation only increased when it occurred to him that hurting her feelings weighed much more heavily on his mind than dealing with Regina de la Gris. He saw himself heading into deep shit…and there wasn't a thing he could really do to stop it.

And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to try.