This chapter goes out to my wonderful reviewers of chapter one. Karen, Shdwcat27, vanityfair, Starbridge, PowerPunk (one of my favourite people) Bene Gesserit Witch, and Tulipsaside- from the bottom of my heart, I thank you all.

Newly edited to American Standard English! (At least I think that is what this is.) As Emmie cleverly picked up on, I am a comma junkie. I went through and misplaced the ones I thought I could do without. If someone brilliant about comma placement wishes to beta, please let me know. Remember that there is no such thing as nit-picking. All corrections and comments welcomed and appreciated!

Discovering the Hidden Heart

Part Two

Meeting on Thin Ice

After the battle, out of the blood soaked soil bloomed the black flower of growing awareness. At its multi-petalled center Snape saw the depth and breadth of his own personal failures. The best evidence of the worst of his failures were the living senses beholding the flower and the living mind to which those senses reported. He had run scenarios, strategies, and back up plans through every obstacle course his mind could conjure. None of the scenarios passing those tests made provisions for his continued survival. He died helping to defeat Voldemort every time in every way imaginable.

Sometimes he died pointlessly or as a helpful distraction. He died when Voldemort realized how near he had kept his enemy and how much trust he had placed in a shrewd traitor. He died protecting Harry Potter who seemed to need so much protecting yet seemed to muddle through even when facing impossible odds alone. He died as Ron Weasley died doing something tremendously stupid and unforgivably brave. He died bathed clean in a sea of green light with a smile on his lips. He died explosively with his consciousness and body blown apart and strewn in all directions for miles. He died writhing in an agonizing vice of pain. That was always his best guess. Nowhere was a scene written or conceived or even joked about not even in the most morbid corners of his mind that approached these real events as they unfolded where one of five survivors just happened to be him.

How could he live standing among a pile of dead children with their innocent blood pooling on the cold ground around him? How could he outlive Miss Parkinson when she had only just discovered who she was and all the life her future held? How could he outlast Miss Bulstrode as sturdy and reliable as dragon hide yet younger than the best of his clothes? How could he outlive both these two little snakes that he was honor-bound to protect with every ounce of his life? How could he outlive Potter, the boy with the singular talent for refusing to submit to death? How could he outlive Weasley who had not yet sired his red-headed litter of future Gryffindors that would be some other poor bastard's trial by fire when it came to Potions instructing. How could he outlive Dumbledore twice? Perhaps he had been born hating himself. He was certainly an expert at it. However, he had never hated himself enough to know exactly how much he could hate himself until now.

After everyone who would die had died and everyone who was injured was whisked away to recover he found himself still alive still there on the battlefield beside Hermione Granger, the person who had the most recent good reason to despise him. She was kneeling next to him amidst the corpses close enough to kiss. There were no tears, no hysterics, not even an apparent need to speak. She was staring, deciding what to do with him most likely though she had no wand now. He hoped that she despised him enough to kill him. Certainly, death would solve all of his problems. He handed his wand to her. Her blood stained fingers closed around it. She never took her eyes off him. She twirled his wand absently then held it out for him to take again. He took it and tucked it away. He waited. He relaxed. If she wanted to physically attack him, he would let her. Perhaps she would find another rock just for him. He just hoped she did kill him as opposed to making his life even more miserable.

While he waited Snape noticed the little changes that had shaped her in the year he was away. Her hair was longer now. Her face and figure were more defined. Had he not known about the little girl who had sat in his class as a first year he would have described the person next to him as a young woman. Hers was not an ostentatious beauty like that of a young Narcissa Malfoy, nor was Miss Granger plain. Each individual feature was pleasing enough on its own to become a matter of taste. Perhaps some would think her forehead too high or her eyes too far apart or too close together. Perhaps her lips were too full or too thin. Taken as a whole her face was a Raphael portrait, a loveliness revealing itself to the eye slowly as if in a dance of veils. Hers was a beauty that seemed to increase the longer one looked. Suddenly he realized that he had been staring at her a very long time. He looked away. He looked down at the bloody earth. When he glanced up again she was some distance from him making her way between corpses of friend and foe back to her life.

Snape cast a cleaning spell on himself and found McGonagall in the chaos at the castle. He informed her of Dumbledore's death and convinced her that she was a better choice for Headmistress than he was for Headmaster. Together they compiled a list of the dead and notified next of kin. They dealt with the Ministry, other officials, and reporters. They made funeral arrangements. They scheduled repairs and found candidates for replacing fallen faculty. They did a thousand other things all requiring immediate attention. Other professors and staff stopped in to help. They worked all night. Early the next morning, Snape just stood up and left. He went to his quarters to shower and dress. He found Miss Granger at breakfast and informed her that they were now leaving Hogwarts to replace her wand. After a quick stop at Gringotts then another at Ollivanders they flooed back to Hogsmeade.

He never thought to question why he had taken her until late that night when finally he tried to sleep. In the darkness of his bed, he tossed and turned his odd behavior over in his mind. He came to the conclusion that he felt he owed her for Weasley's death. She had not wanted his death in return, or even his pain. Taking her to get a wand really was the least he could do.

Minerva did not ask him to take over as Potions professor or as Head of House. She did not need to ask. The voids were there. He filled them. He found that Slughorn had not made too large of a mess of his supplies, files, and lesson plans. His personal suite, office, and private potions lab had been closed and left untouched except by the House Elves who had maintained them. After a day or two of organization and resupplying, he felt as though he had never left. All too soon he found himself with far too little to do to occupy all the glorious extra time that he had to himself. That was when he started to notice Miss Granger.

While the other students took every opportunity to congregate and celebrate Miss Granger took every chance to be alone. He monitored her. At least she was eating well enough at meals. He observed her demeanor. He paid close attention to the quality of work she handed to him. He even discreetly enquired of the faculty about her, along with Zabini, Finnigan and Lovegood.

Somewhere along the line he noticed a problem or imagined one. He was never certain which until the Wednesday evening he confronted her in the herb garden. He watched her for a long time before he approached her. She sat. She did not read and did not look about her. She was not waiting for someone. She was completely alone and doing nothing at all, whatsoever. That was when he knew.

He was not sure what he planned to accomplish by gaining her confidence. He knew he could do it. He knew it would help her if he could induce her to talk about Weasley, the war, her parents, and what ever else weighed upon her. He was not sure why he felt the need. Perhaps she was his penance for the ones he had lost, for Parkinson and Bulstrode, for Goyle, Crabbe and Draco Malfoy, for Potter the brat who saved the world, and for Ronald Weasley who had the gall to deny him a nice clean painless death.

As the hour of their meeting approached Snape became more and more uneasy. Part of him was convinced that he was about to make some grave error in judgment that he would live to deeply regret. Part of him knew the assumption was irrational. He had survived countless summons by a Dark Lord. What possible threat could Miss Granger pose next to that?

He found he could not sit still. He looked around his office for things to do to pass the time. Since there was only one chair by the hearth he transfigured another exactly the same. Then he changed the second chair's shape and upholstery, so that the chairs no longer matched. Exactly the same chairs implied too much liberty, fraternity and equality for Snape's tastes. He did wish her to feel comfortable and reasonably relaxed. He decided to offer her tea. He made a pot of the best he had on hand and placed a spell to keep it hot. Since he had no idea how she fixed it he supplied milk, sugar, honey, and lemon from his own kitchen. Finally, he placed a spell on his wand to warn him when she entered his corridor only to find that she was already there standing just on the other side of his office door.

Hermione arrived five minutes early. If he were going to make her next hour on earth a proverbial descent into the fire pit at least he wouldn't have her tardiness as a convenient excuse for doing so. She decided to pace for four minutes and forty five seconds before knocking. The thought of spending the next hour talking to Snape was making her hands sweat. What on earth did they have to discuss? She doubted that every word they ever had spoken out of class added up to an entire hour of conversation. Part of her anxiety was the man himself. She had no idea what to expect from him anymore. She had never met anyone more versed at being universally unpleasant. Yet he had been so decent to her recently. What if he were in a less charitable mood tonight?

Worse than the thought of talking to Snape for an hour was the thought of just sitting across from him for an entire sixty minutes not speaking. Which ever way it went her hour with him was certain to be excruciating. She agreed to do this! In effect, she'd given herself detention! What on earth was she thinking?

When the second hand on her Muggle watch swept to the appropriate position she knocked. He opened the door as if he had been standing on the other side of it for five minutes waiting.

"You are early."

She nodded suppressing an irrational urge to apologize.

"Do come in, Miss Granger."

She walked inside. He closed off her only escape. They both just stood there, by the door, staring at each other. Snape looked nearly as ill at ease as she felt. "Have a seat by the fire. I have a pot of Sri Lankan Orange Pekoe. Would you care for a cup?"

"Please."

"How do you take it?"

"Just some milk, sir."

Hermione looked around her. His office had changed slightly from the last time she had seen it. There were now two large winged back chairs near the hearth, one in soft gray, the other in dark blue. She took the blue one because it was slightly closer to the hearth.

Snape levitated her cup to her then took his own cup to the gray chair. They sipped in silence. She was grateful that he was watching the dancing fire and not watching her being especially careful not to spill hot tea on herself.

"Thank you for inviting me and for the tea, sir," Hermione said finally.

"You may feel free to help yourself should you wish another cup. How are you sleeping since the battle, Miss Granger?"

"Fine." She glanced up to see that he was looking at her now clearly expecting more than a one word response. "I'm fairly sure I'm having strange dreams but I can't remember them. How are you sleeping, sir?"

Snape looked pained by the familiarity of the question. Well, what did he expect? He just asked her the very same thing!

"Better than I have in years. Do you feel fortunate that you do not remember your dreams?"

"I do remember them occasionally though not often and not since the battle." Hermione shifted her empty cup and saucer from one hand to the other. There was no where convenient to put it down except perhaps on the floor which she was not about to do. She noticed that Snape had balanced his still half full cup in its saucer on his knee. She was certain hers would end up in pieces were she to attempt something like that. Just thinking about it seemed to make her leg muscles twitch involuntarily. The Reparo spell could fix the cup, of course, but not her nerves after listening to it shatter or her embarrassment at having Snape witness such clumsiness. She decided to hold it on her lap with both hands and forced herself not to fidget with it. "I read that while in REM state human brainwaves resonate at an average of ten hertz. The earth also resonates at ten hertz. When we dream we may resonate with the Earth." Gods! She was spouting stupid observations based on trivia as she was wont to do when she got this nervous or drank too much. What she wouldn't give for a shot of fire-whiskey right now! "Do you remember your dreams, sir?"

"I practice Occlumency at a very advanced level."

He seemed to be under the impression that what he had said answered her question sufficiently.

"Does that mean you don't dream at all?"

"Yes and no. Chemically my brain processes in the usual manner of dreaming. The dream images and other sensations are blocked. It is rather like dreaming a blank, a void, a dark screen."

She'd read books about Occlumency and waded through all kinds of conflicting information yet had never come across anything about dream suppression which was probably part of the reason Harry became so frustrated.

"I see. I understand why for years you had to do that. You don't have to now, though. Do you, sir?" Perhaps Snape did not deem that question worthy of an answer. He was staring at her as though she were speaking Bantu and his translator spell wasn't working. Why was her mouth so dry? She thought about getting herself more tea. Apparently, at the moment the act required some form of bravery this Gryffindor left behind in the towers. She just couldn't help herself. She opened her mouth and out flew, "Many Muggle artists believe that dream images inspire their waking creativity." Her voice was sounding very high and very shrill. She imagined if there were dogs in the Forbidden Forest, they'd all be howling their heads off. "Have you thought about not practicing Occlumency for a while? Just to give your brain a bit of a treat?"

"I doubt my dreams could be considered -a treat- even by my brain, Miss Granger. Still, I will consider doing so if only as an experiment." Snape took up his cup again and sipped never taking his eyes off her. "How is your appetite?"

Merlin, was she really going to tell him this? "At some point during the battle I lost color vision. Everything went to grey scale-"

Snape lurched abruptly forward now looking as if he were crouching to kill something and spat the words,

"WHY DID YOU NOT TELL SOMEONE?" at her.

Hermione was glad had not been balancing anything during his outburst. Even so she nearly launched the tea cup off the saucer she was gripping white knuckled.

"Sir, I'm fine now. I was back to normal the next day. It's just that I can't eat anything red. I can't look at red meat. I can look at red apples or red cherries but have no desire to eat them. Somehow the House Elves know. I haven't seen anything remotely red on the Gryffindor table."

Strangely enough his display of anger seemed to relax them both. Everything seemed more normal. When he spoke again his voice was soft and soothing, a tone most people reserve for young children and the raving mad. Luckily, she had heard Snape terrorizing members of both of those groups plenty of times. She knew that what ever this dulcet tone was from Snape it wasn't a judgment of non compos mentis.

"This aversion will pass, Miss Granger."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes."

Snape settled back in his chair. Hermione stood and asked Snape if he would care for another cup. He took his tea the same way that she did. When they were well into their second cups, Hermione put forward a question she had always wanted to ask.

"Sir, why did you hate the Muggle-born when you were at school?"

"I did not, Miss Granger."

"Then why did you join?"

"I was extremely well suited to the task. Someone had to do it."

"What? Spy?"

Snape looked like he regretted the admission, but nodded.

"The whole time?"

"Long before I took the Dark Mark."

"Before you took it?"

"Being a Slytherin I found myself in a most unique position at a crucial time. I began informing Dumbledore directly of the outside influences effecting Slytherin House. I first proposed my ideas for infiltrating the Death Eaters to Dumbledore the middle of my fourth year. Though he had been in favor of my initial activities he worried when I suggested taking them to a higher level. When the time came, he urged me not to allow myself to be recruited by Voldemort. That decision was not his to make. By that point, even had I wanted to back away and perhaps a part of me did I would have succeeded only in drawing unwanted and unhealthy attention to myself."

"So that's why Dumbledore trusted you."

"I like to think that I gave him many reasons. That was one. I would prefer you keep this information to yourself, Miss Granger. McGonagall is now the only other person who knows."

"Of course, sir. But why would you want to keep those activities a secret now?"

"Because it is my affair, no one else's."

"Why did you tell me?"

"You asked me. Answering your questions builds a foundation of mutual trust between us. Also, I am hoping that by knowing more about me you will feel more at ease talking to me."

So he's trying to use psychology but explaining it first? "Aren't you defeating your purpose by telling me what you are trying to do, sir?"

"Am I? You are not stupid, Miss Granger. How could I hope to gain your trust by treating you as if you were or by evading your curiosity or by lying to you?"

"Do you intend to discuss what I tell you with the Headmistress or Madame Pomfrey?"

"No. I will not betray your trust."

Now that statement should have sounded ridiculous coming from Snape of all people. For some odd reason, every ounce of her being believed him. "Will you answer another question that's none of my business to ask?"

"I will do my best to give you an answer."

"What part did you take in what happened to Harry's parents?"

"They died because of me. I did try to stop it but failed."

"It was Pettigrew's betrayal and Voldemort's doing. How could their deaths be your fault? "

"There is more than enough blame to go around. As a spy for Voldemort I had to provide a constant stream of new information to avoid his suspicion. I was able to clear most of it with Dumbledore first. At times, I had to report what I deemed the most useless bits of information. I would then inform Dumbledore of what I had revealed after the fact. I repeated what I overheard of that prophesy to Voldemort. Please understand that I had never taken Divination seriously. If you think Trelawney is useless you should have met her predecessor. I did not know that what I had overheard was genuine. I took one look at Trelawney and assumed that she was the worst kind of fraud."

"She is a fraud."

"Of course, since she is completely unaware of the extent of her ability or how to use it. Her performance which was an occurrence of accidental magic looked to me like nothing more than a half-witted attempt to deceive Dumbledore into giving her the Divination position. Even had I recognized the event as genuine I would have had no idea to whom that prophesy applied. Relaying the incident struck me as a way to show Voldemort what a desperate, doddering, old fool Dumbledore had become- all the better for Voldemort to underestimate him. I never imagined Voldemort would take it seriously or that he would find babes in nappies a threat to his power. I certainly never imagined that passing along what I considered rubbish information would murder the Potters, create the Boy-Who-Lived, and thereby fulfill the prophesy itself. However, when Voldemort marked the Potter's for death I informed them immediately which was why they went into hiding."

"You were the perfect instrument to facilitate the fulfillment of that prophesy. Had anyone else overheard, other than perhaps Voldemort, that prophesy never could have come to fruition. But if Voldemort had not believed in Divination any more than you did-"

"Yes, all very ironic, isn't it? Tell me, do you harbor resentment toward Purebloods?"

"I'm a bit off people in general at the moment but no, no more than anyone else. The Weasley's are Purebloods. As is Neville and Blaise. I can't say I ever warmed up to Pansy or Millicent. I did have a lot of respect for them in the end. There was a time that I thought Draco might have turned out much better than he did."

"He had that potential. Unfortunately, he could never manage to become a true Malfoy. He could not see his way past Lucius."

"What do mean? A true Malfoy?"

"Theirs was a very old and very proud family. Lucius' father would have sooner died than bow to anyone."

"What happened to him?"

"Lucius tired of bowing to his father. He betrayed both of his parents. He had them murdered so that he could inherit. That was why he needed Voldemort. Draco should have done the same. There was ample evidence that both Lucius and Narcissa were Death Eaters. If he had betrayed them to the Light he would have inherited and probably received the Order of Merlin for his trouble."

"Instead he goes and murders my parents."

"I should not have spoken lightly of such things."

"Professor, you don't have to walk on egg shells. I don't understand why you are bothering to talk to me at all."

"Because I now have time and the freedom to do so. Why did you agree to this meeting, Miss Granger?"

"I was asking myself the same question earlier. I guess you are the least of all evils."

He did not smile but managed to look amused all the same.

"I'm certain it is the first and last time I will ever be called such. Please do explain the meaning of that statement."

"I think you are right, sir. I do need to speak to someone. At least you aren't singing and dancing and wearing glow-in-the-dark pink and canceling classes so that students can sunbathe. Merlin! Even Dumbledore never did any of that!"

"He did wear that color, but only to the Ministry. Minerva will calm down eventually. She misses him. She is adjusting by living vicariously through the student body. At least this is my theory."

"Were they a couple?"

"No. They were very dear friends. Minerva has been seeing another professor for years."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. Perhaps a change of subject is in order. Do you have any more questions to which you would -like- to know the answers?"

"I'm bracing myself, sir. Who's with McGonagall?"

"Flitwick."

"He is Charming!"

"So says his coffee mug."

"What does yours say, Professor?"

"My coffee mug was a gift from Dumbledore."

"And it says?"

Snape looked truly miserable. "Three words in Braille."

"In Braille?"

"Yes, I have an interest in alternate forms of communication- codes, alphabets, sign language, and the like."

"Did that come in handy while spying?"

"How on earth would it have?"

"I don't know. You may have had to give Dumbledore a secret message or something."

"When I had to give Dumbledore a secret message I spoke to Dumbledore in his office. It always seemed more practical than attempting semaphore at dinner in the Great Hall."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Yes."

"So what are those three words, exactly?"

"Slytherin Love Potion."

"Is that accurate, Professor?"

"You know very well how I am the first class of the morning."

"You are the stuff of legend any time of day, sir."

"Perhaps, but I am far worse without caffeine."

"Me too. Hogwarts has turned me into a caffeine addict. I never had tea, coffee, or even hot chocolate before I came here. Now I can't do without."

"Do you mean you never even tried tea before you came here?"

"Not proper tea. We used to drink mint or rose hip infusions and call it tea. Both my parents were dentists. They were obsessed about teeth stains, tannic acid, and the leaching of calcium. I never had sweets, either."

"I would like to think that caffeine and sugar addictions are the worst habits that we have taught you."

"I very much doubt it, sir."

"As do I. Nine o'clock, Miss Granger. Time for your rounds."

"I thought this was going to be really horrible."

"And was it?"

"No. Thank you, sir."

"I shall see you tomorrow night at eight. Good night, Miss Granger."