A/N: I forgot that fanfiction doesn't recognize the asterisks between paragraphs. I am really sorry that last chapter was so hard to read. I've hopefully fixed that this time around. Thanks to Lorriane for pointing it out to me. It's been a while since I've posted anything on here, and I'm getting used to all the screwy stuff that was just starting to be screwy when I stopped posting.

A little more insight into Severus here. But not much. This might go a little slowly. Also, some Harry/Hermione interaction… expect these two to come up against each other throughout this fic. One of the (few) things I find really unrealistic about the books is that Harry never gets overly pissed off by Hermione, and vice versa, and they always trust each other. Harry is a suspicious bastard, and Hermione is ALWAYS doing sneaky things. So I figured he should turn a little of that suspicion on her for a change. Mm-hm.

And don't ask me who Harry is romantically interested in. Because I'm not telling.

Anyway, enjoy! More coming soon!

Chapter 2

I spoke to you

In cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel

I've said too much

My silence is my self-defense

Hermione went back.

She hadn't really meant to end up there, at the little cottage in the woods, but somehow her mind had made itself up before she knew it, and she was on the train to East Hambley. As she hiked up into the woods, she made herself a promise not to step into the clearing around the cottage. As she stepped into the clearing, she made herself a promise not to go inside. And as she opened the door—still miraculously, even foolishly, unlocked—she made herself a promise to stop making promises she knew she'd never keep.

He was not in the main room, which did not surprise Hermione. Her eyes floated once more over the dust and filth of the place, and she wondered how anyone could live in it. Surely this was not how Snape would choose to live? Surely he could afford better? And yet Hermione felt in the back of her mind that Snape's situation was perhaps not a comfortable as they had thought all these years. If he was really a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's most valuable followers, the destroyer of Albus Dumbledore nonetheless, then why would he be living in this place, alone, a blind man with no help or comfort whatsoever?

And then there was the matter of his blindness. How had it happened? The last time Hermione had seen Snape, he had been fleeing Hogwarts with Draco in tow on the night he'd murder the Headmaster. That had been three years ago, and since then the powerful, ominous man had been reduced to a shaking, sightless wretch. He had practically begged Hermione to kill him under the guise of being cornered, when Hermione knew for certain he could easily have escaped the situation. And he hadn't even known who she was. She could not imagine the old Snape allowing some nameless, faceless person to trap him so easily… she could not even fathom him admitting to being trapped.

She headed towards the doorway she'd seen him come out of before and walked through it. Beyond was a room much smaller than the first, and much neater. A small bed lay across the far wall. Vials, jars, bottles and cauldrons lined the shelves on the walls to either side of the door. In the right hand corner was a large, dark armchair in much better shape than any of the furniture in the other room, and in the armchair was Snape.

Hermione tried her best not to move, letting her eyes take in what was before them, eerily conscious of the vision she had always taken for granted. He looked somehow more dignified here, sitting straight in his chair, not having to feel his way about. Upon inspection, his face had not changed all that much. Hermione had thought when she visited a week ago that he looked infinitely older, the lines of his face deepened tenfold. But now he seemed to be almost the same Snape she remembered. A little less meticulously clothed, perhaps, his hair much longer and more unkempt than ever, but the face was the same. His eyes were closed. Perhaps he was sleeping.

"You've returned," He said suddenly. "Come to finish the job?" His snarkiness, his sarcasm, had always managed to rub Hermione the wrong way. As a student, she'd had to deal with it as best she could. As a grown woman, however, she did not feel the need to tolerate it any longer. She pulled a device out of her purse: a sort of facemask, similar to what silly paranoid muggles wore when there was an air-born virus circulating. A patented Voice-box, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George had not questioned her purchase… in fact, they had given her sixty percent off, which was more discount than they had ever given to Ron. She made sure it was firmly in place, and that the switch was set properly, took a deep breath, and dove in.

"I never started it," she said, almost faltering when her voice sounded as a rich, hearty baritone. A momentary glimmer of confusion flickered across Snape's face, replaced seconds later by the same void expression he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain.

"That's funny," Snape said in a tone that suggested it was anything but, "I could have sworn when you disarmed me the other day that your voice was somehow… higher."

Hermione felt a strange liberation at being so thoroughly disguised. Her usual restraint in communication seemed rather unnecessary at the moment. "Perhaps," she said, feeling reckless, "You should have your ears checked." Snape scowled, which now that Hermione thought of it, must have been hard to do with such vacant-looking eyes. And yet he did it as well as he ever had.

"My hearing is fine." He folded and unfolded his hands in his lap, which Hermione took to mean he was uneasy. "That being established…Who are you, and what are you doing in my house for the second time without invitation?"

Hermione had anticipated this question, but try as she might she had never managed to think of a decent answer, so instead she said, "Expelliarmus," and pocketed his wand.

"Again," Snape said dispassionately, "If I had meant to attack you I would have done it by now."

"Why didn't you?" she waited for an answer but there was none. Hermione just barely stopped herself from sighing heavily. She did not want her frustration to show. Trying her best to adopt a masculine air, she began to walk around the small room, exploring as she spoke, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. On a whim, she decided to walk with a slight limp, so as to disguise herself even further. Every one of her adopted disguises were obviously faked, and poorly at that, but then she would have been disappointed if Snape had been unable to detect the best of disguises. The point was not that he accept her made-up persona; what was most important was that he not recognize her as Hermione Granger. And that seemed, at this point at least, to be very unlikely. "I don't expect you to cooperate with me," She began. "It doesn't seem to me that you are much for cooperation. However, you will kindly remember that I have your wand, and that I am watching you. I have some questions to ask you, which you are free to answer or not. I suspect you will opt for silence, but I intend to ask nonetheless." Snape remained expressionless. "Where is Draco Malfoy?" Snape said nothing. "You mistook me for Draco the other day, before your half-hearted attempt to Petrify me. I know you are in contact with him." Still nothing. Hermione nodded. She had fully expected silence in return for her questions. "Alright then. What happened to your eyes?"

"Blindness."

"Thank you for that. When? How?" Silence. "Fine. Just one more." Hermione gathered her courage about her. This next question would, no doubt, be difficult to ask, infinitely more so if it was answered. "Why did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Ron shoveled half of his stack of pancakes into his mouth at once and groaned contentedly. "Good lord," he said when he'd managed to swallow (Harry suspected he did this without actually chewing), "You have to be the best chef in London."

"Well that's highly unlikely," Harry said, smiling at his friend's flattery, "But thank you nonetheless." He spooned some fruit salad onto both of their plates, and then set the bowl next to Hermione's empty place. "My time with them had to yield something good, after all."

Ron continued to wolf down his breakfast. "Well mate, I'm glad this was it. Don't tell my mum, but I think you might even be – "

"Ah, no," Harry said, putting his hands protectively in front of his face, "Do NOT finish that sentence. I mean it. For both our sakes." Ron chuckled around a mouthful of melon.

Hermione liked the feel of her socks as they came between the creaking wood floors and her feet. It was what she had always thought of as a sweet morning, where the covers felt like fine furs and the sun streamed from the tiny overhead windows and the dust in the air seemed to dance in the light. She creaked along the hallways towards the kitchen where her boys were, feeling each bone in her body move and carefully enjoying that movement. Today was a day to take her time. She would do it, she would slow herself and enjoy everything about the day. She would stay in the kitchen with Ron and Harry long after breakfast, she would join in their conversation, she would be part of their world again. She sometimes missed the world.

Ron looked up from his plate as Hermione entered the kitchen, a wide, goofy smile immediately spreading across his face. She returned the smile, but carefully, automatically checking it's width. Ron, as usual, didn't notice, but she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a faint crease forming between Harry's brows. It was gone as quickly as it came, but Hermione saw it and stored it away with all of Harry's other disapproving expressions. She had no time to look a them now. As she moved to take her chair, Ron rose and, leaning over, kissed her forehead briefly. Hermione was caught off guard… usually Ron restricted his displays of affection to private times. And then, without knowing why, she smiled a genuine smile as she spread her napkin over her lap as she thought how lovely it was to be loved so simply.

Harry piled an enormous mound of chocolate chip pancakes onto her plate, and she gave him an incredulous look. "Harry, I can't eat all that!" She exclaimed laughingly. Harry arched one brow loftily.

"Oh? I seem to recall you doing well enough the last time. And the time before that, and the time before…"

"Alright fine," Hermione said, pretending annoyance, "I'll do my best."

"You mean you'll do your worst," Ron injected knowingly.

"Oh, whatever." Hermione ended the battle by shoving a forkful of the subject at hand into her mouth.

Some minutes later, when all plates were clear (including Hermione's) and Harry was at the fridge trying to find a place for the leftover fruit salad, Ron turned to Hermione with the happy, dazed look he always got after eating one of Harry's meals. "So…" he said mischievously, "Last night…"

"Er, yes," Hermione said awkwardly, casting a glance at Harry to ascertain whether or not he was listening in. He didn't appear to be.

"What was that?" Ron asked with a naughty grin. "I've been thinking about it all morning. I mean, you were just… Wow. Who were you thinking of?"

"What?" Hermione asked, the word coming out harsher than she'd intended. "No-one!"

"Hey…" Ron chuckled and slid his hand along her arm. "I was just teasing you. I know you were thinking of me."

"Of course," Hermione said, her breath catching in her throat. "Of course I was."

"Well, whatever you had on your mind, keep it there, because you were bloody brilliant." Hermione grimaced.

"Ron, can we not talk about this right now?"

"Yes, please don't," Harry said suddenly, reaching for their plates to take them to the sink. "I don't need to know what you two do." He paused. "Well, I already know what you two do. I just don't need to think about it. "

"Sorry mate," Ron said, blushing a horrifying shade of scarlet, "I didn't think you were listening."

"I wish now I hadn't been."

"Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Silence.

"What happened to your eyes?"

A slight shrug.

"Why did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Still more silence. And then, the question Hermione knew would come. It was her fifth visit to Snape's cottage, and she had still been allowed to enter and disarm him and question him, all without quarrel. Each time, he had at some point asked her only one question, which he clearly expected her to answer if he was ever to answer hers. Usually he asked it sooner rather than later. Today he had decided to wait.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

"I think you know why I'm here by now." The clear baritone sounded rather flat in the cramped, tiny space.

"Fine," Snape said with his old, superior air, "I shall amend my question. Who are you?" the last was said in a firmer tone than Hermione had heard from him during any of her visits. Something compelled her to answer his question, and so she said the first name that came to her mind that was not her own.

"Harry Potter."

Snape made a scoffing noise. "You are not."

"Aren't I?"

"No. I know Harry Potter, and you are not him. Besides, Harry Potter would have tried to kill me the second he lay eyes on me, and he most likely would have succeeded. You are not Harry Potter. Try again."

Hermione narrowly avoided letting her mouth turn up at the corners. Snape seemed almost a person again, but she could not allow herself to forget what it was that this person had done. She bit her lower lip in thought, and then answered again. "My name is Philip Carey," she said, trying her best to sound as if she'd said it a thousand times. Snape's mouth did turn up at the corners, into a rather knowing smirk.

"You could have at least picked a less well-known character," he said in a tone that was half amused and half irritated.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to," Hermione said quickly, thinking to herself that he was right.

"Yes you do. You can't possibly be ignorant enough to believe that I haven't read Somerset Maughm, I am a half-blood, after all. I read 'Of Human Bondage' when I was eleven. If it weren't for your limp, I might have written it off as a coincidence, but that your namesake has a club-foot and you've chosen to fake a limp to throw me off… too convenient. That, and you're obviously a woman. Perhaps you should have gone with Mildred."

"Oh, thanks a lot." Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or amused. "Anyway, I don't know what would make you say that I'm a woman."

"You are."

"Maybe I am."

"You are." Hermione couldn't help but crack a smile, but she managed to wipe it off her face before it could creep into her tone.

"Well, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." She began to pace again, this time forgoing the limp. "I just want the truth, Snape."

"So you can punish me. Or Draco. Or both of us."

"Would you really care if I exacted revenge on Malfoy?"

There was a long pause, and Hermione knew Snape was grappling with a number of possible answers. Finally, he replied, "What do you think?"

Hermione smirked. It was exactly the sort of answer she had expected. "I think you would. I think you care more about your past and the people in it then you're willing to let on."

Snape scowled. "How hopelessly sentimental. I am afraid that you'll never get the information you're seeking if you insist on mistaking sentimentality for logic."

"I've come to discover that in practice they are not quite as mutually exclusive as one might think."

Harry stopped Hermione on her way through the halls, before she could make it to the second staircase. "Come have a nightcap," He said, and Hermione got the feeling it wasn't a request.

"I'd better not," she said, smiling sheepishly, "I've already been drinking, I'm afraid. But I will come and sit with you a while, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." Harry poured himself some Firewhiskey, and they sat. "So you've been out on the town, then?" He asked casually.

"I don't know it I would call it that," Hermione said lightly. "I just bumped into someone, that's all."

"Anyone I'd know?" Hermione thought quickly. She hated lying to Harry.

"I hardly think you'd know him."

"Ah, him," Harry said meaningfully, and for a moment Hermione thought she was sunk. But the Harry continued on. "Any sort of romantic interest?"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded quietly, "Of course not."

"No," Harry said, staring into his glass, "Of course not indeed. What was I thinking?" They were silent for a moment, surveying each other surreptitiously. Harry broke the silence first. "He loves you, you know."

Hermione, whose mind was firmly on the events of the day, did not immediately realize who Harry was talking about, but when she did, she nodded quietly, assuming a neutral expression. "Yes, I know."

"I hope you don't intend to break his heart." It was rather a more gentle warning than Hermione had expected, but it did seem like a warning nonetheless.

"I don't intend to," she said carefully. "You know that's the last thing I'd want. I'm doing everything I can to take care of his heart the best I know how."

"Oddly, I believe you." Harry got up to refill his now empty glass, and took the leisure of making one up for Hermione, who took it without protest. Harry sat back down across from her with a sigh. "Hermione, for the record, I know what it is not to love someone you're supposed to. I know that it can't be helped, no matter what you try to do. But that doesn't make it easier for the one who's in love with you."

"And Harry, for the record, this conversation makes me feel very uncomfortable." Hermione was beginning to feel irritable by this point for reasons she was sure had nothing to do with the alcohol. "And I can't really see how any of this involves you."

"You two are my best friends, my only friends really," Harry said quietly, "And I love you both more than anyone or anything in this world. So yes, it damn well does involve me."

Hermione was slightly taken aback at this sudden declaration of emotion. Harry rarely ever expressed his true feelings with words, and to hear them stated so plainly somehow made up for the awkwardness of his confrontation. She nodded solemnly. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"You're uncomfortable, it's completely understandable." He smiled a little. "Anyway, I'm not trying to get you to do anything you feel you can't do. All I'm doing is asking you to be careful with Ron. That's it."

Hermione smiled at this. It was so very like Harry, ever the protector. He was not accusing her; he was just protecting his friend. "Harry, you know I'd never purposely do anything to harm Ron. Of course I'll be careful. I mean, come on… this is me, Harry, have you ever known me to be reckless?"

"No. But that doesn't mean you haven't been. It just means I haven't caught you yet."

Hermione laughed quietly with a heart full of dread. "You have nothing to worry about," she said, and swallowed what was left of her drink. "Goodnight, Harry."

Review, man. More coming soon.