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


Chapter 31

Stealing silently through the deserted hallways of the castle, Snape wasn't surprised to find nothing much had changed since his confinement had begun. Nothing had really changed in the twenty-eight years since he'd first set foot in the school.

The door to the Hospital Wing was unlocked, but he stepped back after turning the handle and pushing it open. The action had made his hand visible, just for a moment, as it slipped past the confines of the cloak.

He was a fool to be doing this.

The cloak hung to the ground, so there was no danger of his feet being exposed. His hands, though, were a different matter. Frowning, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a silent Invisibility Charm on the offending appendages. It wouldn't last long, but he could renew the spell if he had to.

The mediwitch's office was dark and silent as Snape made his way past, heading for the far end of the room. There was a screen around the last bed, and the soft glow of a barely-lit lantern was shining from within.

Taking a moment to ensure the cloak was secure and the hood was covering his face, he stepped around the screen and laid eyes on Hermione.

Even in the soft light, he could see the sheen on one side of her face from a healing salve and the dark shadow of the fading bruise beneath it. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat as he wondered what other bruises were hidden beneath the thin sheet tucked around her small frame.

Moving closer, he gazed down at her, noticing the faint furrowing of her brow even as she slept. He reached out an invisible hand to lightly brush her fingers, resting atop the sheet, and noticed the faint bruising of fingermarks around her wrist.

Guilt rose in him so quickly that he felt physically sick, and he groped behind him for the arm of the empty chair, sinking into it slowly and bowing his invisible head. Whether the marks were from his own fingers or not, he was still to blame.

Could he ever make amends for what he had done to her this night?

Rearranging the folds of the Invisibility Cloak to make sure he was completely covered, he settled in for the remaining hours of darkness by her side. She probably wouldn't wake any time before dawn, but it was the least he could do to stay with her, even if she wasn't aware of it or didn't want him there. Staring unseeing across the dimly lit room, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Some time later, a soft whimper from the bed drew him back to the present, and he glanced over at Hermione. Her eyes were closed and she was still asleep, but her head had shifted to one side, loose strands of hair falling across her face. She made another soft sound of fear or pain, and her eyelids fluttered but she didn't wake. A glance at the empty phial on the bedside cabinet told him she had been given a sleeping draught, but not a dreamless one.

It was good thinking on the part of the mediwitch, he thought approvingly. Dreamless Sleep only repressed memories to be dealt with later, often surfacing in greater clarity when they finally broke through the liquid shield. He should know.

The fingers of her free hand clenched at the sheet, and he instinctively reached out to her, wrapping his own fingers around her smaller ones. She clasped his invisible hand unconsciously in her own; it seemed to comfort her, and she fell back into a peaceful slumber.

He silently renewed the charm on his hand, just to be safe, and sat forwards, trying to find a comfortable position from which to maintain the contact. Twice, he tried to remove his hand from hers, but each time he managed it she became restless in her sleep again. So, ignoring the cramping muscles in his back, he took her hand again.

He would have to leave before the mediwitch returned in the morning, but just as the first hint of grey broke on the far horizon visible through the Hospital Wing window, Hermione awoke.

His eyes went first to his hand, making sure the Invisibility spell was still intact, and then to her face as he watched her blink away the potion-induced fuzziness still clouding her brain.

He flexed his fingers a little in her grasp, and he saw her stiffen as she became aware that she wasn't alone.

She turned her head abruptly in his direction, and then he saw a panicked look cross her face when she saw nothing.

She pulled her hand from the phantom grasp and held it up in front of her face, squinting in the dim light as she examined it. She shook her head, then, and Snape knew she thought she'd been dreaming.

He made the slightest movement, shifting his legs, and the cloak rustled around him, audible in the stillness of the silent room.

She glanced fearfully in his direction again. In a whisper, she said, "Who's there?"

He leant forwards and touched her hand lightly again; she started, but didn't pull away.

"Harry?" she said uncertainly. "Come on, this isn't funny."

He could see her becoming more frightened, but he daren't speak. He might have taken the risk of coming here, but he wouldn't utter a sound that might give him away. It had already been established the walls had ears in this castle.

He placed his hand more firmly over hers, trying to reassure her.

She twisted her hand so her palm was facing up and entwined her fingers in his. Snape saw the frown of confusion begin to cloud her face as she realised they weren't the fingers of her Gryffindor housemate.

Her breathing quickened slightly – from fright or anticipation, he couldn't tell – as she ran her fingers over his, trying to make sense of what she could feel but not see. Her light touch travelled up to his bony wrist and she stilled her fingers for a moment, staring at a spot somewhere above and to the right of him as though expecting him to be revealed.

She turned his hand over and her fingers brushed the small ridge of a hex scar on his inner wrist. It was another remnant of the animosity between him and James Potter in their school days, and a scar Hermione had seen and asked him about before.

Her eyes widened and a myriad of emotions crossed her face. There was fear and trepidation, but there was also hope, relief and as much joy as he thought she should be able to muster under the circumstances. It was that joy, he hoped, and not fear, that filled her eyes with tears.

"Severus?" she finally whispered, his name almost undetectable on a soft exhalation of breath.

He squeezed her hand again in confirmation, but then released it as he saw she was about to speak again. He reached up and pressed a finger softly over her lips in a gesture of silence, waiting until she nodded in understanding.

She was still staring at that same place over his shoulder, thinking she was looking at his face, and so when he removed his finger from her lips he took her chin and gently tilted it down and to the left. If she looked straight ahead now, she would be looking directly at him.

She seemed to understand what he was doing, but there was still uncertainty written on her face. Did she still think him to be angry with her?

Without speaking or allowing her to see his concern for her and remorse for what he had done, how could he convey the truth to her?

She reached out tentative fingers, feeling the edges of the material around his face, and he saw the confusion on her face as she realised it was Potter's cloak. He tensed, ready to push her hand away if she tried to lower the hood, but she didn't. Instead, she reached further until her fingertips came into contact with his jaw. He found himself leaning into her touch almost unconsciously, and that seemed to give her confidence.

Her hand crept along his jaw and then up his cheek to where she had hit him, probing the spot with her fingertips. He'd almost forgotten about it after everything that had happened since.

Obviously, she hadn't.

She dropped her hand and said softly, "I'm sorry."

If he were visible at that moment, she would have seen him staring at her, astonished. She was apologising to him? If it wasn't for his Vow, he would have thrown off the cloak – spies be damned – and told her in no uncertain terms she had absolutely nothing to apologise for.

As it was, the only thing he found himself able to do was reach out to touch her face with his invisible hand, mimicking the path she had traced on his cheek moments before.

She leaned into his hand, a single tear trickling from the corner of her eye, and he brushed it aside carefully, his hand coming away slightly sticky with the salve still being absorbed into her skin. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and stood up reluctantly, the rustle of the cloak falling about him alerting her to his movement. He didn't know how early Madam Pomfrey would return; it wouldn't be wise for him to wait and find out, either.

She shifted a little, looking for a more comfortable position, and Snape caught the quiet but sharp inhalation of pain as she inadvertently moved her injured arm.

Glancing back at the bedside cabinet, he spotted a phial of pain-killing potion. He took it and held it up to his nose, sniffing the contents. There was a mild sleeping draught mixed with it, but that wouldn't hurt her.

She was watching the phial with a trace of amusement on her face as it floating in mid-air, and when it came closer to her, she nodded and raised her head a little.

"Thank you," she murmured a moment later, when he took the empty phial and set it back on the cabinet.

He gazed down at her, reluctant to leave but knowing he had to go soon. Nevertheless, he stood there for a while longer, listening to her breathing even out as the potion-induced sleep overcame her again.

Her unruly hair was spread out all over the pillow, and he couldn't help but reach out to smooth it down a little. He brushed a short, frizzy curl from her temple and, on impulse, leaned down to brush her forehead with a kiss.

She slept on, and he finally stepped back from the bed and left. Stealing back through the corridors before the rest of the castle arose for the day, he wondered if the Headmaster knew where he had been.

Dumbledore seemed to know everything that went on in the castle. He would not be pleased.

Whatever the Headmaster's verdict, though, it was something Snape had to do. Even now, he was unsure whether her acceptance of him was merely borne of fear and exhaustion and need for someone – anyone – to be with her.

When she was fully coherent and had time to think on what had happened, would she still be so forgiving?

He supposed all he could do now was wait.


When Hermione woke, the sunlight was streaming in the open windows of the Hospital Wing. She stretched, gingerly flexing her bandaged arm, and was pleased to discover it hurt much less than the previous night. She still had a dull, aching headache behind her eyes and was bone weary. All things considered, though, she felt reasonably well.

Looking at the cabinet by her bedside, she noticed the two empty phials and frowned. She remembered Harry handing her the sleeping draught before he left, but when had she taken the pain-killing potion?

A partial memory came to her, like a half-remembered dream; a whimper of pain, and then gentle, invisible hands holding a phial to her lips. The pain subsided, but with its relief had come tiredness again, and she'd closed her eyes. Had she felt the lightest touch of soft lips on her forehead before she had slept?

Hermione sat up, staring at the empty chair beside her bed. The room was silent even though she listened for some time. Reaching out, she moved her hand in a slow arc above the surface of the chair, but it found only air to pass through, not the obstruction of the solid but invisible person she had hoped to find.

She left her hand drop, confused. Had she only imagined he had come to her last night?

You must have, she thought sadly. Severus couldn't have been here. He isn't allowed. As much as he was frustrated by his confinement, he wouldn't go against the Headmaster wishes.

Then again, another voice interrupted inside her head, if it was a dream, why was he invisible?

The smallest ray of hope blossomed in her that she might not have imagined it after all. Perhaps she could ask the Headmaster; she would undoubtedly be speaking to him at length some time soon.

A short while later, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the infirmary.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, upon seeing Hermione awake and sitting up.

"Okay, I think," Hermione said. "My arm is still a bit sore."

"It will be for a few days," the mediwitch said as she gathered the empty phials and banished them to the other end of the room, where they landed in the washbasin with only a soft clink. "And how about your head?"

"It's aching a little," she admitted, "but nowhere near as bad as last night."

"That's good, then," Pomfrey said, casting her wand quickly over Hermione and nodding her head, seemingly satisfied with what she detected. "I'll get you something else for your head. It would probably be best for you to rest a while longer."

"Oh, but I feel all right, really," she protested. "I think I'm okay to leave."

In truth, she was anxious to speak to the Headmaster, and to find out whether Severus had really been to see her while she slept.

"I believe I'm the mediwitch here, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said sternly. Seeing Hermione's expression, though, she amended, "Rest this morning and then, provided you are still feeling well enough, you may leave after lunch. The Headmaster wishes to speak with you this afternoon, and I must insist you do not return to classes for the remainder of the week."

"Oh, but-"

"No buts, Miss Granger," she said firmly. "You have been through a terrible ordeal; whether your body feels all right or not, you are still recovering from the shock of it, and the best thing you can do it rest for a few days. You aren't missing any new topics in your lessons, and I daresay you're already ahead in your revision?"

Hermione nodded sheepishly.

"Good, then there is no excuse." The mediwitch summoned another phial from somewhere across the room and handed it to Hermione. "Rest this morning, and we will see how you are after lunch."

After a morning of sleep, a light lunch and a stern warning not to 'overdo it' from Madam Pomfrey, Hermione found herself being escorted by the mediwitch to the Headmaster's office shortly before three o'clock.

She wore her open robe over pants and a jumper which the mediwitch had arranged a house-elf to bring from her room earlier that day. She was glad of the thought; the torn blouse from the previous night would be going straight in the fire. She had no intention of wearing a reminder of what had occurred.

She thanked Madam Pomfrey as she stepped onto the revolving staircase and continued up to the circular office alone.

"Come in, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said, rising from behind his desk. "Have a seat, my dear. Can I get you some tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, sir," she said, lowering herself gratefully into one of the comfortable armchairs. The walk from the infirmary had tired her more than she wanted to let on to Madam Pomfrey, and she suddenly wasn't so confident in her health as she had been earlier.

"Well, then," said the Headmaster, taking the chair opposite her and clasping his hands under his chin. "We have much to discuss, I would imagine, but shall we deal with the unpleasantries first?"

"I think everything we're going to discuss is unpleasant, Headmaster," she said quietly. "Some more so than others."

Dumbledore nodded sympathetically.

"Miss Granger," he began after a moment, "I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am that something like this has happened. I know it seems trivial to say such a thing after the fact, but I can assure you most vehemently it will never happen again."

She shook her head. "It's not trivial at all, sir. I'm grateful for your concern. I was hoping you might fill in a few blanks for me, though. Harry told me a little of what happened after... afterwards... but he didn't know all the details."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, sitting back in his chair. "Where to begin? Perhaps you might tell me the last thing you remember, if you are able?"

She took a deep breath. "I remember hearing someone cast a Stunning spell. I thought it was being cast on me, but Harry says otherwise."

"Indeed," affirmed the Headmaster, and he proceeded to explain exactly what had happened after she had blacked out.

She learnt that Malfoy had come across Crabbe returning to the Slytherin common room to retrieve the Portkey. Curious, the Head Boy had waited until his housemate re-emerged and then followed him back to where Goyle was holding her.

"Mr Malfoy didn't reveal himself until he realised what the other boys were intending to do. Seeing your failed escape, he knew if he didn't step in at that moment, it would be too late. He Stunned both boys and was seeing to you when I arrived."

"Because of the Unforgivable," Hermione said softly, and the Headmaster nodded.

"I never thought I would see the day a student of this school used such a curse on one of their classmates," he said heavily, shaking his head as he continued his account.

He told Hermione of his arrival and his initial fear that Malfoy, too, had been a part of what happened. The Head Boy had seemed genuinely concerned and shaken by his two housemates, though, and the Headmaster had more pressing concerns at the time. He described how Professor McGonagall had arrived and taken her to the Hospital Wing, while he enlisted the help of Malfoy to take the two unconscious Slytherins up to his office.

Once there, Hermione learned the Headmaster had retrieved the Portkey, bound the boys and summoned their parents and the appropriate authorities to deal with the situation.

"What happened to them?" she asked.

"They have been expelled," he said firmly. "As far as both I and the Board of Governors are concerned, such an act of violence has no place in this school. Their fate now solely rests in the hands of the Aurors."

"Because they're of age?"

"No, Miss Granger. Age has nothing to do with it. They were carrying out the orders of Voldemort. While they may not bear his Mark on their arms, it is clear this was a test of their worthiness to enter his ranks. I have no doubt the Aurors will confirm that when the young men are interrogated under Veritaserum tomorrow."

"Veritaserum?" Hermione echoed, surprised. "They didn't volunteer anything in their defence?"

"It was Mr Crabbe who informed me of their orders from Tom, to deliver you to him alive via the Portkey they were provided with. Before I could glean any more information, though, Mr Goyle advised his friend in no uncertain terms to be silent or they would both suffer consequences even beyond Voldemort's wrath."

"What happened then?" she asked. "What about Malfoy? Did you speak with him? Did-"

He held up his hand to halt her questions, and she waited for him to continue.

"Yes, I spoke to Mr Malfoy, who was waiting in another of my rooms, away from his classmates. I had correctly assumed in separating them that he was concerned his role in foiling the attempted abduction would be made known," the Headmaster explained to her.

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "Why would he have helped me if he didn't want to?"

"I can think of two possible motivations," Dumbledore replied, "but I do not wish to speculate which is closer to the truth. Either leaves young Mr Malfoy in quite a predicament."

She looked at the old man curiously, and he sighed.

"Miss Granger, I do not have to tell you the importance of anything I say not leaving this room, do I?"

"Of course not," she affirmed.

"Mr Malfoy's behaviour has been strange as of late," the Headmaster began. "I know you have noticed, and I know Severus is also aware of what it may mean."

"That he's having second thoughts about what his father wants him to do?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"The problem is, of course, that it may simply be an act; a clever subterfuge of his father's design, carried out in the hope that I may offer him asylum from Voldemort's fury and a place on our side of the war."

"Another spy for Voldemort." Hermione suddenly caught on to what Dumbledore was saying – and what Severus had tried to explain to her some time ago. Malfoy might seem genuine in his attempt to be nice to her – especially now, saving her life – but how were they to know for sure?

"The exposure of Severus as a traitor will have shaken Tom's trust in his own servants," Dumbledore said, "but very few are more trusted by him than the Malfoys. Young Draco is in a perfect position to carry out such a plan."

"And there's no way of knowing which side he's really on, short of Veritaserum," Hermione murmured, to which the Headmaster nodded.

"It has been of great concern to me lately," he said heavily. "I cannot be sure his turn for the better this year is genuine, but if it is and I do not extend a hand or ear towards him, he may lose faith in my ability to help or protect him at all."

"If it is genuine," Hermione said, "what do you think has been the cause of it? He has been more tolerable since the beginning of the year, but it really didn't stand out until after Christmas."

"I have reason to believe Mr Malfoy attended a number of summons with his father," Dumbledore explained, "both last summer and during the Christmas holidays. It is possible, however unlikely, that he may be genuinely sickened by what he has seen. While his father has long taught him the superiority of the pureblood wizard, young Mr Malfoy had not previously seen the lengths to which Voldemort – and his father – go to in advocating that superiority. The plan to attack your parents' home at Christmas – the knowledge that someone he knows well, however much he may or may not like you, was going to die – may have been a turning point in his thinking."

"Malfoy seemed really shaken the morning after Severus was discovered," she commented. "We were watching him at breakfast when he received a letter from his father. Lots of Slytherins got letters, but they were all laughing and snickering over theirs. He looked positively sick."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Which gives purchase to my theory that he is genuinely uncomfortable with what is being asked of him. Mr Malfoy has always had a great respect for Severus, as his Head of House, a friend of his father and a powerful wizard in his own right. It stands to reason that he would be shaken, though whether by Severus' betrayal or his apparent death, I do not know."

"He didn't have to help me last night," Hermione said, brow furrowed in thought. "He could have pretended he knew nothing of it."

"Yes," the Headmaster said. "That is most definitely a point in his favour. However, I am reluctant to speak with him until I am more confident in his motives."

Hermione nodded. The Head Boy's behaviour had been confusing her, too, but none moreso than the previous night. Had he saved her out of genuine concern, out of a Slytherin's desire to protect himself above others should it be discovered he had known what was happening, or for other more sinister reasons?"

"In the course of the night's events, before I spoke to Mr Malfoy, in fact, I managed to inform Severus of the situation."

She drew her eyes back to the Headmaster, aware of the care with which he was watching for her reaction. Should she explain what had passed between them or had Severus already done so? If he had, did the Headmaster know the nature of their whole argument, or only that the moonfilly blood played a part? She didn't even know whether the Headmaster still considered Snape a teacher, and therefore assumed their relationship had remained merely a close friendship. She looked away from those piercing blue eyes again, not wanting him to see her conflict.

"If you are feeling up to it," he continued, "perhaps you might take a moment to visit Severus when we are finished here. I know he is most anxious to see you."

Her face fell.

He hadn't been to see her, after all. It had merely been a wishful dream on her part, a product of her fear and distress.

Dumbledore, misreading her expression, said, "Miss Granger, Severus has told me a little of the argument you had last night. I do not know exactly what was said, but he was very distressed to think his actions caused you to flee so unthinkingly. I understand his words may have hurt you, but-"

"I hurt him just as much," she whispered, blinking rapidly to try to dispel the tears gathering in her eyes.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said firmly, repeating her name when she didn't look up the first time. When she finally met his eyes, he said, "Severus is not a forgiving man, Hermione. Young Harry can tell you he holds grudges long past their due, and often for the wrong reasons."

She looked down again. He was trying to tell her not to expect too much if she ventured to speak to Snape again.

"Whatever you have done," Dumbledore continued, "you need seek no forgiveness from him. It seems he has taken sole responsibility for what happened between you last night, and for the subsequent events, though they were beyond his control. His fear, I feel, is that you are not inclined to forgive him."

She stared at Dumbledore, and he smiled, though a little sadly.

"He cares for you a great deal, Hermione; more than I would have ever imagined possible a few months ago. I would not normally condone such a thing – you know this from my earlier disapproval - but chance and circumstance has seen us break many rules these past few years, the least of which to allowing someone to love whom they will. If you can both manage to forgive yourselves – not each other, for that is already a given, I feel – you will brook no argument from me as to where you go from here."

Her throat closed up as she opened her mouth to speak, and no words came out. A single tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and she was too surprised even to wipe it away.

After some time and more than one attempt at clearing the lump in her throat, she simply said, "Thank you, sir. I hope we can work things out."

The Headmaster nodded understandingly.

"I must have been dreaming," Hermione continued after a moment. "I thought he visited me last night."

"If he could, I have no doubt he would have," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid I could not allow it, though."

She nodded, her hope at the Headmaster's earlier words failing just a bit. If they were only his words, only Dumbledore's interpretation of the situation, how was she to know that was how Severus really felt?

There's only one way to find out," she thought, setting her jaw and trying to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach.

"I think I might speak to him now, if that's all right, sir?"

The Headmaster smiled and nodded. "I'm sure he will be delighted to see you, but doubly so after what has happened." He offered her a lemon drop from the dish on the table between them, and popped one in his own mouth when she shook her head.

"Now," he continued, "in light of what has happened, I must insist you do not wander in any part of the school after curfew. To make things easier, I have activated the Floo connection between Severus' sitting room and your own room."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, surprised.

"But," he added sternly, though there was the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. "I must warn you the connection is for your use only. Severus may not use it, nor anyone else. I will be sure to mention that to him, too."

She blushed scarlet at his insinuation... or was it at the thought Snape had the means to access her room unseen by anyone?

"Of course, sir," she managed to say. "I understand… and thank you… for everything."

"You are most welcome, Miss Granger."

He stood at the same time as her, and strode over to his desk as she moved to the fireplace for a pinch of Floo powder.

"Before you go, Miss Granger," he called, coming to stand before her and holding out his hand, "I think this needs to be returned to you."

She extended her hand and he dropped an object into it. Glancing down, she realised it was the rune necklace her parents had given her for Christmas.

She gasped, putting one hand to her throat even though she now knew it wasn't there. She hadn't taken it off since Christmas Day; how had she not noticed it was missing?

"Where did you find this?"

"In the dungeons," Dumbledore said quietly. "I believe you may have lost it during your altercation with Mr Goyle."

"Oh."

Her neck was still sore from almost being choked, though the bruises were gone, and she hadn't noticed the necklace missing. He must have torn in from her amidst one of her attempts to escape.

"Thank you, sir," she said again, tucking it into the pocket of her robe before she took a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantle.

As the fire turned green and she stepped in, calling out to be taken to Snape's quarters, she heard the Headmaster say, "Good luck."

Curiously, those two words unnerved her.


Hermione stepped out of the hearth, the flash of green flames dying behind her as she brushed a little stray powder from her robe.

Snape glanced up from the papers on his desk and his face froze. She watched him, unsure whether his blank, if slightly shocked, expression was going to change into one of anger or joy at seeing her.

He set his quill in its holder and rose slowly from his chair, never taking his eyes from hers as he moved around the edge of his desk. He stopped at the opposite end of the couch from where she stood.

"Hello, Severus," she greeted softly.

He cleared his throat, his face still blank as he said, "How are you?"

She blinked back the tears that came into her eyes at his dispassionate enquiry; it seemed more of a cursory gesture than one made out of any genuine concern.

"I've been better," she finally managed, speaking almost in a whisper to hide the tremor in her voice.

He nodded, and she saw his gaze travel from her face to the sling on her arm, half hidden beneath her open robe.

She looked away, not wanting him to see the hope written plain across her face, and her eyes fell on something draped across the back of one of the fireside armchairs: Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Her eyes flew back to him, and in that moment she realised that his face wasn't expressionless; it was uncertain. He was waiting for her reaction, just as surely as she was waiting for his. Would she slap him again, tell him he was a heartless bastard, or cross the room and embrace him?

"It was you," she breathed.

"Who did you think it was?" he asked, frowning.

"No." She shook her head. "I meant, I didn't know if you... after what happened, I didn't think you would come. I wondered if it was just a dream."

It was Snape's turn to shake his head, his expression softening as he said, "No, it wasn't a dream, Hermione. I was there."

She crossed the room in four, swift strides, and he stepped forwards to meet her halfway. Without hesitation, he pulled her to him, embracing her as tightly as he could without crushing her injured shoulder. She wrapped her unrestrained arm around his waist and buried her head in the soft material of his shirt.

She tried to hold back her tears, but the soft caress of one of his hands up and down her back was her undoing. All the pent-up frustration, fear and hurt of the last twenty-four hours burst from her at last, and once she started sobbing, she couldn't stop.

It could have been minutes or hours later when her sobs finally gave way to hiccupping breaths, and she turned her head to one side to wipe away the last of the tears blurring her eyes.

He was still rubbing one hand in gentle circles on her back, and his chin was resting on her head. She could feel his breath stir her hair as he spoke, and realised he was saying, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one who should be apologising," she said softly, realising she'd left a large, damp patch on the front of his shirt. She fingered his open collar and continued, "I'm sorry, and I don't mean for blubbering all over your shirt. I've been so thoughtless."

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh and pulled back so he could look down at her, his arms still around her back. "You are anything but thoughtless, Hermione. It is I who should be begging your forgiveness."

"But I hit you!"

"And you had every right to," he countered. "I daresay you might have knocked some sense into this bitter old head of mine."

"I wouldn't have needed to if I'd been truthful with you in the first place," she said remorsefully.

"Hermione," he began, waiting until she met his eyes to continue, "what I said... and what I did, for that matter... I won't insult you by trying to justify my actions and words last night. They were completely and utterly reprehensible and if there was any way I could take them back, I assure you I would. I was so angry about the moonfilly that I lashed out with the first thing that came to mind. It disturbed me that you would ignore the potential to save hundreds of lives in exchange for only mine."

"You said it, though," she said quietly. "It had the potential to save others, but I knew it could save you. The only error I made was not explaining what had happened as soon as you woke up. I know you still would have been angry, but at least you would have known."

"Or, at least, I would have been too weak to muster such anger," he quipped, but then sobered quickly. "That still doesn't change what I did, Hermione. I should never have taken such liberty invading your mind like that, and I am sorry."

She smiled faintly. "You seem to be saying that a lot tonight."

He didn't returned her smile, though, instead shaking his head and saying, "To think that my actions almost cost you your life..."

"They didn't," she said firmly. "Besides, I was the one foolish enough to leave by the dungeons."

"But you wouldn't have had I not spoken so harshly," he countered.

She sighed and sat on the couch, pulling him down beside her.

"We're going around in circles trying to take the blame from each other," she said with a wry smile, which he returned this time. "We're both too stubborn for our own good; I'm too stubborn to step back when I know I shouldn't push you, and you're too stubborn to believe anyone can love you, warts and all."

"Warts?" He glared at her.

"Figuratively speaking," she amended, then smirked. "I hope."

He continued to glare at her, but the corner of his mouth was twitching, and this time she laughed outright.

"Baggage and all? Skeletons in the closet?" she offered, and to that he nodded in agreement.

It was strange, she thought in that moment. The horror of the previous night's attack hadn't diminished at all, but being with him and having put things right had taken it from the forefront of her mind, even if only for a few short minutes. She actually felt able to laugh, her relief at their reconciliation a weight off her shoulders.

"I honestly don't know why I tried to turn you away," he said finally. "It was... not what I wanted, and I don't know why I thought you'd so readily agree."

"You obviously forgot about that Gryffindor stubbornness," she said teasingly. "We never give up on our friends... even hopeless cases who don't know what's good for them."

"And a good thing, too," he murmured.

She held his gaze for a long moment, and then reached up to pull his head down to meet hers. She didn't kiss him, but tilted her own forehead up so it was resting against his. If she kept her eyes open, she could look into his, so close and so dark they seemed to draw in everything around them, including her.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of his skin against hers, the strands of hair beneath her fingers at the back of his neck and her own breathing which was threatening to quicken.

"Hermione?" She felt the exhalation of the word on her cheek.

"Hmmm," she replied noncommittally. She was enjoying being close to another person without fear of them hurting her. She had wondered, both last night and earlier that morning, whether she would be able to do so again. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of Madam Pomfrey's hands healing some of her bruises, although she knew full well the mediwitch wouldn't harm her. The very thought of someone – anyone – touching her where those Slytherins had the previous night sent her skin crawling.

Yet, here she was, taking comfort in such simple closeness. Snape, too, had frightened her the previous night, and yet now she felt no fear in his presence. Here and now, she felt nothing but safe.

She brushed a soft, light kiss at the corner of his mouth as she drew away, blushing a little at the curious look in his eyes.

"I think that's about all I can manage right now," she said. He misinterpreted her words for a moment; she saw the hurt expression flicker through his eyes at the thought she was still upset with him, but then he realised what she was referring to, because he nodded and sat back.

She noticed again the Invisibility Cloak draped over the armchair, and asked him about it.

"Your friend Potter was… magnanimous-" he spoke the word with a slight sneer in his tone "-enough to lend it to me last night so that I might see you."

She shook her head, amused but slightly stunned that Harry would have made such an offer... and that Snape had accepted.

"I wondered," she commented, "when Dumbledore said earlier you were anxious to see me. He didn't know you came last night, did he?"

Snape shook his head.

"Albus will be most displeased should he find out, although I didn't disobey him explicitly, as you can see from my being here."

She looked at him in confusion, and then it dawned on her.

"The Unbreakable Vow."

He nodded.

She'd seen it months ago in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the young Death Eater swearing under pain of death to obey the Headmaster in all things, but she hadn't thought on what it meant at the time. She recalled Snape's words after the Headmaster had decided to allow the attack on the Muggle school to proceed unhindered: "Dumbledore has made his decision, and I'll do as he asks, as I have always done, regardless of the consequences."

"Wait," she said, frowning. "Didn't he say you had to remain in your rooms, though?"

Snape shook his head. "Not in so many words, although I don't doubt that's what he meant to say."

"Then-"

"As Potter reminded me last night when I told him the reason I couldn't go to you, magical vows are taken very literally. Magic doesn't not have the human capacity of reasoning or the ability to separate explicit instructions from interpretation. Albus told me I must not be seen... by anyone who doesn't know I'm still alive, that is."

"All right," Hermione said, nodding slowly. "But why didn't you show yourself to me, then?"

"Think, Hermione," he admonished. "What if someone else were there? Some I didn't know about?"

She paled.

"You know," she went on after a moment, "that was a rather thoughtless way for Professor Dumbledore to phrase it. What if someone managed to break into your rooms and see you?"

Snape stared at her.

"I would imagine he hasn't considered that," he said eventually, shaking his head. "Nor have I."

"Well, it could happen," she insisted. "Wormtail might not be able to get into the castle anymore, but that doesn't mean someone else might not try!"

"I'll speak to him about it," Snape reassured her, and she settled back next to him.

It was dark outside, she noticed, glancing over her shoulder at the huge window behind Snape's desk. The rest of her classmates would be having dinner in the Great Hall, but she didn't feel like answering all their questions yet, and she was content to remain where she was.

"Why did he make you swear it if he was already convinced you were sincere?" she asked after a long silence in which Snape, like Hermione, seemed to have been lost in thought.

He sighed. "I imagine it was the only way he could be absolutely one hundred percent sure of my loyalty. Taking a chance at that stage of the war was not an option for either side."

"Tell me what happened when you went to him," she implored, turning to look at him. He met her eyes, deliberating her request with an unreadable expression.

"You already know most of it from the Pensieve," he pointed out.

"I want to hear it from you," she said softly, "but only if you want to tell me."

He sighed and rested his head back on the couch.

"Where to begin?"

"Anywhere you want, Severus," she said, pleased he had consented to speak of it so readily. Perhaps it would be good for both of them.

He told her a little of his childhood, mainly about his mother, and a little more about his time at Hogwarts as a student. She was surprised to hear of his friendship with Lily, and distressed by the way it had ended.

He spoke very little of his time as a loyal Death Eater, only going into detail about his potions apprenticeship when she showed interest. He told her much of what had happened from the time he had gone to Dumbledore until the first downfall of Voldemort.

His voice shook almost imperceptibly when he spoke of October thirty-first, sixteen years ago.

He told her how he was captured by Aurors not far from Godric's Hollow, still in his Death Eater robes. He was barely able to think, let alone Apparate to safety; the stinging pain of the Dark Mark, burnt black into his forearm like the most vicious of summons, had leeched all reason from his mind. The Aurors had taken him to the Ministry and interrogated him under Veritaserum for hours on end, determined to find out what had become of Voldemort that night.

He found himself telling her how, when the Aurors didn't get the 'truth' they wanted from him, they tried to beat him into confessing things he didn't even know.

Hermione sat up abruptly at that.

"But they're Aurors!" she exclaimed. "They have a code of conduct. How could they do that?"

"These were dark times," he reminded her. "Aurors had the power use Unforgivables at will and kill suspected Death Eaters on sight. Alternative methods of interrogation meant nothing."

Hermione frowned but settled back against him, and after a moment of silence he continued.

He told her how Dumbledore had come to the Ministry, three days after his capture, explaining his role in the Order and demanding his release. A member of the Wizengamot Albus Dumbledore may have been, but the demands of a single member had no sway over the Aurors. Frustrated with his resistance to tell them what they wanted to hear, he was carted off to Azkaban while Dumbledore pled his case to his colleagues of the Wizengamot.

Hermione sat up again, but didn't make any exclamation. He met her shocked gaze, seeing the absolute horror in her eyes.

"Azkaban?" she finally whispered, and he nodded.

"Suffice to say it was the longest four days of my life. I'm thankful I was mostly oblivious for the first three."

"Oblivious?"

"You think they were courteous enough to take a detour to St Mungo's on the way to Azkaban?" he scorned, but she could hear a hint of remembered pain in his voice.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured.

"It wasn't pleasant," he said shortly, and then quickly moved on to another time, another topic. She let it pass, morbidly curious as she was. There were some things he would probably never tell anyone, including her.

By the time he had finished speaking, she was stretched out along the couch on her back, her feet hanging over one end. Her head was resting in his lap as he sat upright, his own bare feet propped on the coffee table.

Her headache had returned in the middle of his anecdotes, but she hadn't wanted to interrupt him. He so seldom opened up about anything, and the story of his life, however dark it was at times, was also captivating.

Lying in his lap, she could rest her head but also watch him as he spoke, staring straight ahead, unseeing, as his mind focused on days long gone. She could see the expressions flit across his face as he spoke, and the slight pause – longer than it took to draw a breath – before he spoke of something particularly painful.

His right hand was toying idly with her hair, as it so often did when they sat together. There was something vaguely therapeutic, he had once said, about twisting the locks around his fingers, unravelling them, and watching them bounce back into curls again.

His left hand, which he'd extricated from beneath her when she first lay down, was resting lightly across her midsection, his long fingers curled over her smaller ones as her unbandaged arm rested there, too.

There was silence for a long time when he finally finished speaking, and Hermione didn't realise at first he had stopped. The low timbre of his voice and her own exhaustion had lulled her almost to the point of sleep, though she had heard everything he said.

She glanced up at his face again, stoic as he stared across the room.

What could she say, anyway? "Thank you," was nowhere near adequate to convey her gratitude at the trust he had placed in her. She doubted anyone – even Dumbledore – knew as much about him as she now did. Dumbledore only seemed to know that which related to his time at school and his motivations for joining the Death Eaters. Snape told Hermione those things, even though she knew much of it from the Headmaster already, but he also told her much more; from his earliest memory of helping his mother make potions in the basement of his childhood home, to the ridiculous Christmas presents the Headmaster always gave him, she learnt the few fond memories he had, and many frustrations and annoyances.

Eventually, he sighed and looked down at her. There was uncertainty in his eyes, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to pass judgement on him now that she knew almost everything. He should know by now she wouldn't judge him on past transgressions.

She merely smiled up at him, and that small gesture seemed to make a difference, because he looked suddenly relieved, and then he gave her a wry smile.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, he said, "Tonight was supposed to be about you, and I've just spent the better part of the evening talking about myself."

"No," she corrected firmly. "Tonight is about both of us, and this was something I wanted to know and you needed to say, I think."

"Still," he said, although he nodded in agreement, "I didn't have to tell you everything in one sitting. You must be exhausted."

"I am a little tired," she admitted, sitting up to stretch. A moment later, she pressed her hands to her forehead as her headache returned with a vengeance.

"Hermione?" She heard Snape's voice but it sounded distant, and she closed her eyes. She felt a tremor run through her body and clenched her hands to try to hide it from him.

She felt his hands on her shoulders to steady her, though, and knew that he felt her shaking by the concern in his tone, which she could make out even though his voice still seemed to be coming from far away.

"Just give me a minute," she managed to say, and her own voice echoed in her ears.

It passed as suddenly as it had come upon her, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her worriedly.

"I'm all right," she said lamely, and it sounded false even to her own ears.

"You're most certainly not all right," he said sternly, gripping her shoulders a more tightly. "I could feel you shaking, Hermione."

"It takes a day or two before it wears off completely, I think," she said, exhaling a slightly shaky breath.

"Before what wears off?" He was frowning.

"The after-effects of the Cruciatus."

It was her turn to frown in confusion when she saw his eyes widen in horror. His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

"Sorry," she said, realisation dawning. "I thought you knew-"

"Albus told me very little, and Potter didn't mention-"

"It's okay," she said with a sigh, closing her eyes as she rested her pounding head against the back of the couch. "Forget I mentioned it."

"I most certainly will not forget it," he spat, though his anger wasn't directed at her. "Hermione, they cast an Unforgivable on you-"

"And they'll be suitably punished," she cut in tiredly. "They've already been expelled. The Headmaster said their fate rests with the Aurors, now."

"And well it should," he ground out. The conversation brought back unpleasant memories of the curse, but his indignancy on her part was heartening. She tried to stifle a yawn and realised her eyes were becoming scratchy with exhaustion.

Snape saw her yawn and glanced at the clock on the mantle again.

"It's quite late," he stated. "Your friends are probably wondering what has become of you."

"They had Quidditch practice tonight," she said, adding with a wry smile, "They probably assume I'm still sleeping; that's what Madam Pomfrey ordered, anyway."

"Perhaps you should heed her advice," Snape suggested. "The after-effects of the Cruciatus aren't to be taken lightly, nor any of the other injuries you received. You do look tired."

She nodded, knowing he was right but reluctant to leave. The thought of going back to her empty room made an feeling of uneasiness grow in her. She'd been alone in the Hospital Wing for at least some of the previous night, but she had also been under a sleeping potion. She had no such luxury tonight.

Sensing her concern, Snape said, "Gryffindor Tower is perfectly safe, Hermione. Minerva is most protective of her charges."

"I know," she said quietly. "I just... there are plenty of people in the Tower... just not in my room."

He appeared to think her words over, absentmindedly scratching his forearm through his shirtsleeve.

"I suppose if you stay here," he said finally, "I can make sure you follow Poppy's orders to rest."

"Can I?" she asked. It was what she had been hoping he would say all along, but she was too proud to ask.

He nodded and stood up, offering his hand. She rose, grateful for his firm grip because she still felt slightly unsteady.


Taking Hermione's hand and leading her into the bedroom, Snape couldn't help but think of other, more pleasant circumstances in which he might be leading her so.

You should be thankful she's even here at all, he scolded himself, galled that he was even contemplating such things after the previous night.

"Do you, uh..." He cleared his throat gruffly, gesturing towards the bathroom door, but she shook her head, looking vaguely amused through her tiredness. It was a lot easier, he reflected, to put her to bed when she was already asleep. He seemed to be grossly out of practice when it came to social niceties.

She shrugged out of her robe, but had some difficulty extricating her arm from the sling until he helped her. She stretched the arm a little, seeming satisfied that it didn't hurt, but left the thick, white bandage around her upper arm and shoulder in place. She was wearing simple pants and a jumper underneath; he didn't want to think what state her clothes from last night might have been in.

He stood back while she climbed into one side of the bed and drew the comforter up to her shoulders.

"I could probably take this off, too," she murmured, gesturing to the bandage with her other hand as she settled back into the pillows. "It's a bit uncomfortable."

"Tomorrow," he said, gazing down at her for a moment. He could think of nothing else to say; apologising to her again crossed his mind, but he thought better of it and simply murmured, "Good night."

When he made to retreat, though, she caught his hand.

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"Have I ever turned you out when you've fallen asleep here before?" he asked wryly, and she shook her head.

He looked down at their hands, waiting for her to release him and berating himself for wishing she wouldn't. Then, after a moment, she said softly, "Will you stay with me?"

He looked away, hoping she hadn't heard his breath catch in his throat. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed next to her and hold her. Even his baser instincts weren't as strong as the need to simply be with her.

For whatever reason, though, he found himself refusing. Clearing his throat, he heard himself say, "I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll be in the next room if you need anything."

"Severus, please," she said, refusing to release her grip on his hand.

He sighed inwardly, his conscience fighting a losing battle against the hope in her eyes.

"Why?" His question hung in the air, but she didn't respond until he looked at her again.

"Because I want you to," she said simply, "and because I feel safe with you."

He shook his head in disbelief. How he managed to make her feel safe above her other friends was beyond him.

"Please?" she said again.

How could he refuse her?

"All right," he said with a sigh, and she released his hand.

"Thank you."

He walked around to the other side of the bed, feeling her gaze on him all the way. There was a rustle of bedclothes as he set his wand on the nearby cabinet, and he turned to see the covers drawn back on his side of the bed.

He tried to keep the smile off his face at the irony of her inviting him into his own bed, but then he glanced over to see her watching him with something akin to trepidation, biting her lower lip.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" he asked. She nodded, and before he could think of another of many reasons why he shouldn't, Snape climbed into bed and pulled the comforter up over his legs, leaning back against the headboard instead of lying down.

"Are you going to sleep?" she asked, looking up at him.

He deliberated for a moment, and then sighed, sliding down the bed until he was lying level with her, staring up at the canopy.

He could feel her watching him still, and then tensed as he felt her move, shifting onto her side to face him. He continued to stare straight ahead.

"Severus?" came her voice after some time, filled with uncertainty.

"Forgive me," he said after clearing his throat, which seemed to have suddenly become rather dry. "It's been a while since I've shared my bed with anyone."

Social niceties aren't the only thing you need to practice, he thought. Then again, he'd never much got into the practice of showing affection. His life hadn't exactly been conducive to longevity in anything, especially relationships.

She moved closer, her head resting on his arm just below the shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of her body against his.

"I've never shared, so we're even there," she commented through a yawn.

He froze. Did she mean she'd never... she was... No, you idiot, he told himself. She's talking about sleeping.

He exhaled slowly and tried to ignore his baser instincts, suddenly stirring as she shifted her head so her breath was warm on his neck.

Such a reaction was the last thing she needed from him tonight.

"Are you okay?"

He glanced sideways and realised she was watching him.

"Just thinking," he said lamely.

She yawned and shifted again, resting one hand comfortably across his ribs. His wand was out of reach, unless he disturbed her, but a murmured spell extinguished the lights; the darkness with the curtains closed was absolute.

"Severus?" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt and her own hair.

"Mmm?"

Her hand found his in the darkness and, after a moment, she said, "I forgive you."

It wasn't that she needed to say it for her own peace of mind; she had forgiven him before she even entered his rooms today. It was he who needed to hear it.

"Go to sleep, Hermione," was his only answer.

Her breathing evened out as she finally fell into an exhausted slumber, but Snape lay there, staring up into the darkness.

When morning came, he was still wide awake.


To be continued

Author's Notes:

As always, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! Comments, questions and criticism are always welcome – it's the only way I know if I'm doing something right or wrong!

The Invisibility Cloak – unlike the twins' Headless Hats, the magic doesn't extend beyond the confines of the cloak. It does, however, hide your face completely if you have the hood up. It wouldn't be practical to have to wrap up your whole face the remain hidden!

October 31st, sixteen years ago: At present in this story, it's March 1997. The Potters were killed on Halloween night of the year 1981… so it's fifteen and a half years, actually, but who's counting:P