Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


Chapter 16

When Hermione came to, she was immediately aware of three things; the hardness of the surface she was lying on, a heavy weight across her legs, and the frantic, hysterical voice of her mother somewhere in the distance.

Groaning, she opening her eyes and tried to focus on something in the dimly lit room. She had no idea where she was.

Suddenly, her mother's voice became clearer and she found herself being shaken, hard, by the shoulders.

"Wha… what happened?" she mumbled blearily, trying to push the hands away.

"Darling? Hermione? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

She blinked, and was finally able to focus on the terrified face of her mother and father, who both breathed a visible sigh of relief as she shook her head to clear it.

"I'm okay," she said, as it suddenly all came rushing back to her. "I'm fine. Where's Professor Snape?"

She struggled to sit up, fighting a wave of dizziness, the heavy weight still pinning her right leg to the hardwood floor. She made to push it off and froze; her stomach dropped. The heavy weight was Professor Snape. He was splayed haphazardly across the floor, completely motionless.

"Professor!" she called urgently, her stomach clenching in fear as she remembered the barrage of spells cast at them as they had Apparated. She sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the last one hadn't hit its mark. Managing to extract her leg from under his own, she knelt by his side. Her parents watched fearfully as, with some difficulty, she gently turned him onto his back, noting the ragged hole in the back of his robes where a hex had burnt through.

His face was unmarked, his eyes closed, and she hesitated only a moment before pushing the high collar of his shirt aside to find the pulse point on his neck. It was there, quick and strong

"I think he's just been Stunned," she said with relief. She searched the floor around them for her wand, eventually finding it still clasped firmly in Snape's hand. She extracted it from his fingers and, taking a deep breath, cast, "Enervate."

There was a frightening moment when nothing happened, before Snape opened his eyes and coughed weakly.

"Professor?" she said softly.

His gaze turned to her and he blinked, trying to clear his vision.

"Miss Granger," he said, as he got to his feet a little unsteadily, pulling off his heavy Death Eater cloak and tossing it to the floor. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and he turned to her parents, standing uncertainly in the centre of the room and looking slightly dishevelled from their Portkey journey. Glancing around for the first time, Hermione realised the room was not only empty, but also windowless, lit by some unseen, magical source.

"Mr and Mrs Granger," he said. "I apologise for my abruptness, however it was absolutely imperative to get you away from your home as soon as possible. I don't know how much your daughter has told you of-"

"We know what would have happened," Hermione's mother interrupted quietly, looking very shaken, and clutching her husband's hand. "We've been reading the Daily Prophet for the last three years."

Snape seemed to exhale a breath at the prospect of not having to explain his actions to angry parents. Hermione bit her lip worriedly, though, as her father stepped up to her teacher.

"What I don't understand," Alan Granger said in a tight voice, "is how you knew they were coming, and why you were dressed like one of them."

Snape glanced at Hermione in askance, and she, understanding his unspoken question, silently shook her head; she'd told her parents nothing of the Order, or the war, beyond what was reported in the Prophet.

"Dad," Hermione sighed. "Maybe I should explain-"

"No, allow me to explain, Miss Granger," Snape cut her off, "but first, perhaps you would care to move to a slightly more comfortable room."

Hermione and her parents both stared blankly at the empty walls of the room they were in, wondering how that was going to be possible.

"If you'll follow me," Snape said, striding to one wall, in which a door materialised as he approached. He led them down a short hallway and a flight of stairs into a small sitting room. The walls were white-washed and devoid of portraits, the monotony only broken by a small fireplace and worn, wooden mantle.

There was a sharp Crack! and for a moment, Hermione feared the other Death Eaters had somehow followed them, but she turned around to see a House Elf standing before Snape, wearing a very neat tea towel and wringing its little hands.

"Master Snape!" it squeaked. "You is not telling me you is coming, and bringing guests! Kimby has not made house proper for guests!"

Hermione looked at Snape in surprise. She had assumed he had brought them to a safehouse used by the Order. She hadn't guessed it would be how own home, though. She listened interestedly to what Snape was saying to the Elf, surprised, again, by the civil tone with which he addressed the creature.

"There is no need to worry, Kimby," he said. "We shan't be staying long. You may bring us some tea."

The Elf nodded vigorously and disappeared with a pop.

A fire sprang up in the grate, and Snape gestured to the couch and armchairs, spread in a rough semi-circle facing the hearth. A moment later, a silver tea tray appeared on the coffee table in front of the couch. Once they were all seated, Snape proceeded to explain, as briefly as possible, how he'd come to learn of tonight's events.

The Grangers were silent for most of his explanation, until Hermione's mother commented at the end, "Why Hermione? What did she do to deserve this?"

"Mum," she said. "Haven't you been listening to anything Professor Snape has said? This isn't about revenge. They lust for power and domination, and they'll dispose of anyone who threatens their dogma or dares to stand in their way. This isn't about what I've done; it's who I am."

Snape cleared his throat. "That's not strictly correct, Miss Granger."

She stared at him. "What do you mean? You're the one who told me-"

He held up his hand. "That is part of their reasoning," he conceded. "However, you are also a friend of Potter, which makes you a target, if only to hurt him, and, for reasons unknown, the Dark Lord has become aware that you are working with me."

Hermione blanched, her mother looked confused, but her father sat forward in his seat, eyes flashing.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said in a low voice, "that you – a teacher charged with protecting my daughter – have brought this upon us yourself?"

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, but Snape silenced her with a look.

"Mr Granger," he said levelly, though Hermione could see the vein in his temple pulsing with anger at her father's allegation. "I will not deny that this situation has arisen partly as a result of your daughter working with me. However, in no way did I intend to put her in danger. There are extenuating circumstances we have no control over, which led to the altercation tonight. There is someone within the Order of the Phoenix passing information to the other side, and it because of that the Death Eaters had knowledge of your daughter working with me, and made her a target of their attack."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as her father sat back, his temper abating somewhat.

"I don't understand," said her mother. "If they think Hermione has been helping you, why would they want to kill her?"

Snape massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers before he spoke. "They had no intentional of killing your daughter tonight, Mrs Granger."

"What?" said Hermione, startled. "But Malfoy was-"

"Malfoy serves his own agenda, as much as the Dark Lord's," Snape said derisively. "Something which, thankfully, will make it easier for me to explain my actions tonight. As I have said, the Dark Lord knows you are close to Potter. Somehow, he also knows you have more respect for me than most of your peers do, and wants me to use that. He believes, if you come to trust me enough, I will be able to gain information from you about Potter, and report to him."

"Oh." Hermione thought on what Snape had said, and it made sense, but what did it have to do with tonight?

Anticipating her question, Snape, his head bowed, said, "He believed that your trust – or perhaps gratitude would be a better word - would be gained tonight, if I arrived in time to save you. Only you."

"Oh, God," Hermione's mother whispered, only now realising just how close to death they had been.

Voldemort had planned to kill her parents, believing, in her despair, she would be pushed closer to Snape. Her gratitude to him for saving her own life, and his remorse at failing to save her parents, giving her cause to turn to him. She would seek comfort and guidance from the only other person who understood what she was going through, and he, seeking her forgiveness, would listen and guide her, gaining information about Harry to be passed on to Voldemort in the process.

Hermione looked at her parents, both sitting, pale-faced, on the couch. Her father's expression changed from one of shock to resolve, and he stood up and crossed to stand in front of Snape.

Snape, too, rose from his chair, unsure what the older man's reaction would be.

"It would seem," Mr Granger said, clearing his throat, "that I owe you an apology for my earlier assumption; and more so, we owe you thanks for our lives." He extended a hand to a surprised Snape, who eyed the older man for a moment before returning the handshake with his own, firm grip.

Hermione's mother, too, rose from the couch and clasped Snape's hand in her own, whispering her own thanks softly.

Snape looked vaguely uncomfortable with the attention, and simply muttered something about it being, "Unthinkable not to act on such knowledge."

That wasn't true, though, Hermione suddenly realised. He hadn't acted on pure knowledge. She remembered what he had said to her, weeks and weeks ago, before they had begun working together, "I was there. I knew about it an hour before it happened and I did nothing to save them. I didn't cast a Killing Curse, but I stood by and watched as others did."

Why had he not stood by and watched tonight, stepping in at the last minute to save her, as Voldemort had planned? What had prompted him to risk everything, his position in Voldemorts ranks, and his own life, to save the Muggle parents of one student?

Not to say that she wasn't grateful; she didn't know how she would ever be able to repay the Potions master for his selfless act. But what had Dumbledore told her about war? Life is a precious thing, but sacrificing one life for the continuation of our cause has been necessary in the past, and will become so again.

If Snape's position with the Death Eaters was put in jeopardy because of his decision, would the Headmaster believe his actions were worth the consequences? If it had been anyone but Hermione's own parents, would she, herself, have believed saving two Muggles' lives was worth blowing the cover of their spy? Disquieting as it was, her answer would have been no.

She realised she had been lost in thought for some time, and Snape was still speaking her parents.

"-much left to discuss," he was saying, "however I think it best to wait until the Headmaster arrives. He is no doubt aware of the situation, and will be here as soon as practicable."

"When will we be able to return home?" Mrs Granger asked.

Snape hesitated, and Hermione saw understanding come into her mother's eyes. She'd seen the photos in the newspaper; the Death Eaters didn't just kill, they destroyed.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions until we have the facts," Snape cautioned. "It will be safest for you to remain here until the Headmaster arrives. I shall show you to a room where you may take some rest, if you wish."

The Potions master snapped his fingers and Kimby appeared again.

"Yes, master?" it said.

"Take the guests upstairs," Snape instructed. "Show them to the guest rooms and provide them with whatever they need."

He turned to Hermione and her parents. "I know sleep will hardly be forthcoming, given the circumstances," he said, "however it has been a trying evening. I suggest you try to get some rest."

Hermione's parents extended their thanks once again, and turned to follow the House Elf upstairs. Hermione hesitated, meaning to thank Snape herself, but found herself lost for words. Her throat suddenly felt rather tight, and all she could manage was a grateful smile, to which Snape nodded, before she turned to follow her family.


Upstairs, Kimby led the Grangers to a simple room with two twin beds, a small desk, and two armchairs. The fire was lit and room seemed cosy enough.

"This is your room, sir and madam," the elf squeaked politely. "You lets Kimby know if you be needing anything. Tea, biscuits, extra blankets." It turned to address Hermione. "You is next door, Miss. You lets Kimby know if you be needing anything, also."

"Thank you, Kimby," Hermione said kindly. The elf's huge eyes widened at the expression of gratitude, and it disappeared with a pop.

Hermione turned to her parents, waiting only a moment before embracing them both in a fierce hug.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into her mother's jumper. "This is all my fault. I-"

"No," her mother said firmly. "Hermione, it isn't. You said yourself: it's what you are. You can't change that."

"But if I wasn't..." she trailed off. If she wasn't a witch, if she wasn't Harry's friend, if she wasn't such a stubborn, persistent Gryffindor, perhaps none of this would have come to pass.

"There are some things you can't change, Hermione," her father said gravely. "And some things you can't control. The only people responsible for what has happened tonight is that evil wizard and his followers; no one else, least of all you."

She wiped her eyes and met her father's own, seeing the sincerity in his gaze, He wasn't just saying empty words to make her feel better, and it did put her mind to rest, a little.

"But our house," she whispered. "It's... what if they've..."

"Houses can be replaced, Hermione," her mother reassured her. "Everything that made it a home is in this room."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Hermione murmured. "Others haven't been so lucky as us in the past. Professor Snape risked a lot to save us tonight."

"He seems like a complicated man," Mrs Granger said.

Hermione looked at her mother. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing really, dear," she said. "We're very grateful to him, and he seemed affable enough tonight, but after seeing him dressed up at one of them… well, appearances can be deceiving, can't they?"

Hermione stared at her mother, unsure exactly what she was trying to say. Did she see some ulterior, selfish motive behind Snape's actions, or was she merely saying, as Hermione had discovered herself, there was more to her teacher than met the eye?

"He's just... don't judge him on what he has to do, Mum," she said finally. "He's not what he seems."

She left her parents to get some rest, if they could, and closing the door behind her, she leant against the cool wood for a moment. Her head was spinning again, probably from a combination of Apparating, and the stress of the night's events. A movement out down the hall caught her eye, and she saw Snape emerge from another room, tucking a wand into his sleeve as he closed the door.

She wondered if he'd heard any of the conversation she'd just had with her parents, but if so, he gave no indication.

"Are you all right?" he asked, then sighed, closing his eyes. "Of course you're not all right. Forgive me, it was a daft question."

She gave him a small smile and walked over to where he stood.

"I'm better than I would have been," she said quietly, "had you not intervened tonight. How can I ever thank you?"

"Thanks are not required," he said, in that stiff way she'd become used to whenever he was uncomfortable.

"No," she said softly. "But they are deserved, nonetheless."

He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. "You should get some rest," he said at length, stepping past her in the narrow hall to make for the stairs. She caught his hand as he brushed past her, bringing him up short.

He turned to face her again, and before he could protest, she released his hand and wrapped her arms around his back instead, pulling him quickly into a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered into the scratchy wool of his frock coat.

He stiffened initially in her embrace, but then she felt him exhale a breath and relax. His own arms came around her hesitantly, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back, the other against the mass of curls at the nape of her neck. Just for an instant, she thought she felt him lean his chin on the top of her head, before he pulled away, his arms sliding from her back to her shoulders.

She looked up, slightly awkward after her bold display of affection, but any regret disappeared as she met his eyes. There was no discomfort, no trace of derision or an attempt to, yet again, push her away. They were filled with only warmth, concern and sincerity.

"I never did get the opportunity to thank you, either," he said, and, at her look of confusion, elaborated, "for your Christmas gift."

"Oh," she smiled shyly. "Did you like it?"

"Very much," he said. "It was both thoughtful and unexpected."

She smiled more openly, and replied, "As was yours. Thank you, sir."

It seemed he was about to say something else, for he opened his mouth, then closed it again, letting his hands drop from where they still rested on her shoulders.

"You really should get some rest," he offered again.

She shook her head, the reality of the situation once again weighing on her mind. "I don't think I could sleep," she murmured. "There's too much going through my head right now. When will Dumbledore be here?"

"Hopefully by morning," he replied, then, after a pause, "Would you like something to drink? Perhaps some tea? It might help you sleep."

She nodded gratefully, and followed him downstairs to kitchen, which vaguely resembled the one at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, with it's long wooden table down the centre of the room.

"This is your home, then?" she asked, as he withdrew the wand she'd seem him tuck up his sleeve earlier and conjure a steaming pot of tea.

"It is my house," he said, retrieving two tea cups from a cupboard, and beckoning her follow him into the lounge. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it a home. I've spent, perhaps, three weeks here in the past twenty years, but it is Unplottable, and has proven to be a useful safehouse."

He offered her a cup of tea, and taking one himself, sat at one end of the couch. Hermione, shivering from either cold or nerves – she couldn't tell – sat at the other end of the couch, facing the Potions master with her legs tucked up underneath her.

They say in silence for some time, sipping tea and staring into the dancing flames of the fire.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" she said, placing her empty cup back on the coffee table.

Instead of his usual 'if I say no, you'll ask anyway' retort, he cleared his throat again and set his own cup on the table, too.

"I think," he said slowly, "you may call me Severus, if you wish."

She turned to look at him, still staring pensively into the fireplace.

"That is if you want to," he continued, a little uncomfortably. "I thought... our friendship... should be on equal terms, and given that you had asked me to call you by your given name..." he trailed off.

Hermione turned to sit properly on the couch; she, too, staring into the fire. She could sense Snape's stillness next to her, almost as if he was holding his breath, waiting for her to respond.

"Thank you," she said, and then added hesitantly, "S- Severus."

She saw Snape relax, just minutely, and she said it again, softly, testing it out, getting used to the way it rolled off her tongue.

"I like it," she said finally, stretching her arms above her head and propping her feet on the coffee table.

Snape turned to favour her with a raised eyebrow. "You think that gives you leave for such impudence?" he asked, gesturing to her feet. "I'll have you know that coffee table is over two hundred years old."

"Oops." She giggled, removing her feet, and tucked her legs up under her on the couch again.

Somewhere in the course of the manoeuvre, she found herself closer to Snape – Severus? No, that would still take some getting used to - than before, their shoulders almost touching. He didn't comment, and again, silence fell upon the room.

"What's going to happen to my parents?" she asked quietly, after a while. "They're not going to be able to go home again, are they?"

She felt, rather than saw, him shake his head, and she sank down into the soft couch, bowing her head so her hair fell forwards, hiding the tears that had come into her eyes. She'd known, from the moment Snape had appeared in the Granger's lounge room, that life would never be quite the same for her parents again, but having conformation from Snape drove the stark reality of her thoughts home. Despite what her parents said, how could she not blame herself, partly, at least?

"No," Snape said regretfully. "I'm afraid that will be out of the question." His voice seemed closer, and she realised he had turned to look down at her where she sat, arms crossed, head bowed. She shivered.

Snape raised his arm to pull out his wand, and magicked another log onto the fire, mistaking her shiver for one of only coldness, not a mixture of that and fear. Hermione took the opportunity to move a little closer to his side, seeking both warmth and comfort. He didn't push her away, and she leant into him, closing her eyes and inhaling the earthy scent that hung about him, like a forest after rain.

She shivered again, and his arm rested lightly on her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. She could feel the warmth of his body through the wool of his frock coat, and felt her eyelids growing heavier as a strange sense of wellbeing, false as it was, came over her.

"'s comfy," she murmured sleepily, and felt, rather than heard the rumbling vibration of his voice as he answered, his breath warm on the top of her head. What his words were, though, she couldn't make out, and in the next moment, she was asleep.


To be continued

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. You really didn't think I would hurt Snape did you? I just like playing with him.

What was to be Chapter 15 now appears to be spread over Chapter 15, 16 and 17. This story was originally supposed to be four chapters in total. Ha.