Sometimes feelings are so … so intense, so overwhelming, so all consuming that it seems impossible to even begin to comprehend them.

Severus Snape scrubbed his hands over his face. This was one of those times….

*It was night-time, and Dumbledore sagged sideways in the throne like chair behind the desk, semiconscious. His right hand dangled over the side, blackened and burned. Severus muttered incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped a goblet full of thick golden potion down Dumbledore's throat. His ears were ringing and he'd had to employ his Occlumency shields like armour to force himself to be calm. After a moment or two, Dumbledore's eyelids fluttered and opened.

"Why," he said, without preamble, "why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?"

A ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced.

"I ... was a fool. Sorely tempted..."

"Tempted by what?"

He was angry now truly, utterly and terrifyingly angry.

Dumbledore did not answer.

"It is a miracle you managed to return here!" He snarled. "That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being -"

Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.

"You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?"

Dumbledore's tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast.

He hesitated, and then said, "I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time."

Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."

"If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!" he said, furious now at his own failure. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. "Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?"

"Something like that ... I was delirious, no doubt..." said Dumbledore. With an effort he straightened himself in his chair. "Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward."

Confusion momentarily overtook the anger. Dumbledore smiled.

"I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me."

Severus sat down across the desk from Dumbledore, terrified now, as well as angry.

Scowling, he said, "The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price."

"In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have," said Dumbledore. "Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?"

There was a short pause in which his heart threatened to burst straight out of his chest.

"That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan."

"Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?"

"He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes."

"And if it does fall into his grasp," said Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, "I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at Hogwarts?"

He gave a stiff nod. Of course he would protect them, as much as he possibly could.

"Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you - "

" - much less since his father has lost favour. Draco blames me; he thinks I have usurped Lucius's position."

"All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath."

"Are you intending to let him kill you?" He asked sardonically, disbelieving and hoping to God his suspicions were incorrect.

"Certainly not. You must kill me."*

The world had stopped at that moment, and so had the beat of his heart. Looking back he'd been almost too overwhelmed and too shielded by Occlumency to know the enormity of what had happened that night.

Dumbledore was dying.

And he'd agreed to kill him. Murder him.

Dumbledore was going to die at his hand.

His final steps into Darkness.

He'd be alone. Completely, truly alone.

There would be no one.

It was all these months later and the reality of the situation was still sinking in like a spear.

What would the Order do when their leader was killed by one of their own? How could the light possibly hope to win this war without Dumbledore?

The grief seemed to well up inside of him like a hot wave of agony, starting in the very depths of his stomach and rising up through him until his heart and his head and every part of him seemed to be burning. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and stopper the wetness that was pouring out of them and scorching his face. Shameful tears. He should not cry.

But it was just … hell.

It felt almost as bad, almost as painful as when Lily had died, almost as hopeless, and that had nearly killed him. And Dumbledore wasn't even dead yet. He hadn't … killed Dumbledore yet. He was going to kill Dumbledore. Oh, he knew it was for all the right reasons, but … somehow that didn't seem to make it feel any better.

The Order would hate him, hell, most of the Wizarding world would hate him. The only place he'd be able to shelter would be in amongst the enemy…

It was time to push all those feelings to the very back of his mind now though. He'd been letting his emotions affect his behaviour far too much. Especially around Granger. Granger. Damn her.

He'd been unable to stomach anything at the Welcoming feast at the start of term, knowing it would be Dumbledore's last. He'd felt Granger's heavy gaze on him the moment he'd entered with Potter, but not dared to look at her until he was quite sure she'd looked away…. And there she'd been, still the same bushy haired girl she'd always been but somehow … different. She looked a lot older. Normally Severus would consider maturity in students a blessed and rare thing but given the circumstances… He hoped she wasn't being forced to grow up too fast.

He'd run into her the next day and she'd looked up at him with those bloody huge eyes and congratulated him on getting the Defense post. She'd been the only one in the entire school who'd bothered. And she was a Gryffindor. And Potter's best friend. He'd had no idea how to respond.

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face again.

And then her smile had faded and concern had overtaken her features.

"Are you hurt?"

He'd been hurt over the summer, the Dark Lord hadn't been thrilled that 2 of his followers had made the Unbreakable Vow without his consent, even if he did approve of the contents. His punishment had been … harsh. But now… He'd opened his mouth to say 'no' but then the pain of all that had happened, and all that was to come had come crashing down on him and pain, grief, dread had coursed through his veins leaving him reeling. He'd found he couldn't lie to her. He'd been very hurt… He still was. Granger had asked her questions, stepped towards him, and he'd stood there frozen, unable to do anything except try and control the dangerous emotions flowing through him, to fight the sudden urge to tell the girl … everything. Granger would hate him too afterwards. For some reason that thought made him feel physically sick.

She'd stood so close to him them, he'd almost felt the warmth of her body through his robes, and she'd reached a hand up to him, so slowly, and as he'd waited in utter shock, he'd noticed, for the first time, how beautiful her hair was, bushy yes, but gentle too, he'd seen the elegant arch of her eyebrows, the soft dusting of freckles on her nose, the hard line of her jaw, the golden flecks in those amber eyes. And he'd felt like someone had kicked him the stomach. Hard.

And then her fingertips had come into contact with the skin on his face. Her touch had felt like burning fire and the softest caress mixed into one. The reality of everything caught up with him and he'd run from her once again. Coward. But really, what else had there been to do? He'd pushed her whole existence behind his defences after that, and done his best to pretend she wasn't easily the most capable student in his class, and that she wasn't looking at him every time they were both in the Great Hall.

But then Katie Bell had been cursed. That was why it was so important for him to bury his feelings, and not just in Death Eater meetings; he hadn't been doing all he could to find out Draco's plans. And a student had nearly died because of it. There was only a little doubt in his mind that it had been Draco; it certainly seemed the desperate attempt of an arrogant, terrified boy. Guilt had been added to his turmoil. He'd been on patrol once again, wallowing in his own pity and hating himself for it, and there was Granger, sitting on a window seat, looking so grave and solemn it had felt like a quick stab in the ribs.

He'd tried to do the right thing and send her to bed, but she'd asked him about Katie Bell, and she'd looked … afraid. Truly afraid and it had been horrible to see that expression on her face. So they'd gone into a classroom to … talk. Severus had locked and warded that door behind him with a pounding, and treacherous heart. And then he'd reassured the girl, and felt a tiny pool of warmth inside for the first time in a very long time, when the scared look on her face had vanished at his words.

"You helped." She'd said, and he was sure he'd detected a touch of admiration in her voice.

"I know considerably more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey." He'd muttered, hating that it was the very worst of him that had saved the girl.

"Well that was certainly a good thing today."

Granger was so … so accepting. It left him reeling every time. And later, when he'd decided to test her, to send her away, as much as he didn't want to, and told her about his summer, she'd had a tiny crease between her brows, then she'd just looked at him with this expression of mingled sadness and … admiration. He was sure it had been admiration. He'd gone further, been more specific, and again she'd stayed with him. Again she'd just, accepted what she'd been told.

"You don't have a choice."

That wasn't strictly true and he'd told her so, but he certainly wasn't used to having people make excuses for him.

She'd walked calmly back into his line of sight and stepped towards him, with a look of staggering empathy of her face.

"Is that what's making you so, very sad Professor?" She'd asked.

And he'd had to tighten his grip on the desk he was settled on, to keep himself grounded as the room went momentarily fuzzy around him. To fight the overwhelming need inside of him to tell her what he had to do. So maybe he could just have one person, just one, who wouldn't turn on him. No one had ever, ever been able to read him like that. No one. Not Dumbledore, not the Dark Lord, not his own parents and not even … Lily.

He'd stood, in blind panic but the bloody girl had stepped closer to him once again. Closer, after everything she'd just learnt about him.

"Please don't run."

He'd sunk back onto the desk, still in shock at the ease with which Granger had picked up on what he was feeling. Defeated by a 16 … no, 17 year old girl.

He'd wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to tell her why he was sad so much his secret seemed to be trying to tear its way out of his throat.

He'd told her far too much anyway. He was so bloody weak. Was she his greatest weakness? Perhaps. Perhaps that buck toothed, bushy haired insufferable know-it-all had managed to become … what? Something … important to him. Something he cared about.

And then she'd stepped closer to him again and she'd been so, so close. And still, he hadn't protested, hadn't sent her away, he'd just … sat there. Feeling desperate, but what for he hadn't known. Then he'd felt her hand on his shoulder. He'd flinched initially. But she hadn't pulled away. He'd looked up at her, fully intending to do the right thing for once in his pathetic life, but the way she'd been looking at him … left him powerless. Defenceless. And he'd looked away again, all thoughts of sending her to bed disintegrating.

Then he'd felt her gentle fingers on the back of his head and an invisible hand had grabbed his stomach. He'd given way to the pressure of her fingers, feeling so weak in that moment that a little more weakness didn't seem to make much difference, and she'd brought his forehead to rest on her shoulder. It felt like one of the most intimate moments of his entire life. There he'd been, defeated in every way possible, and held together by a Gryffindor student he'd spent years bullying. Intimate and bizarre. He didn't think his heart had beat as it should the entire time they remained that way, and every time he felt the slightest warmth of her breath by his ear or the back of his neck, it seemed to implode. He chose not to think about why that might be.

He'd allowed himself far too much indulgence, but while he'd been in that position, his head on her shoulder, the back of it cradled by her left hand, her right on his shoulder, creating a sort of circle around him, he'd been surrounded by something that had smelt somewhere between flowery and earthy, something perhaps a little like honey, and the fragrance had smelt so wholly … good. It had smelt like goodness. So much so that he'd wondered that if something, Dark and unclean like him remained enveloped in that smell for long enough, then perhaps … perhaps some of that goodness would rub off on him, make his path a little less Dark.

It had been a stupid train of thoughts looking back, borne of guilt and regret and desperation. But he'd been waiting for her to come to her senses and pull away from him, and she hadn't. They'd stayed that way for a long time. Her stableness, and his rolling sorrow. When he'd finally pulled himself together, and asked her to leave, he'd done so nicely; unable to be cruel after her enormous, confounding act of kindness. Her many kindnesses. She'd run her hand over the back of his hair, that tiny gesture giving him such a huge boast of courage and strength, it had almost been embarrassing. He'd seen her reluctance to leave him in her face when she'd pulled away, and it had nearly made up for the cold that seemed to be seeping back into him. And then she'd given him one of her little smiles that sent a welcome ripple of warmth over him, before she left, calm and composed, shutting the door behind her.

Severus knew, deep down, that he couldn't push her away, couldn't ignore her; he'd tried enough times. But now he had to focus. Focus on Draco. Focus on gathering information and helping the Order as much as he could now, because it was going to be a hell of a lot harder … after. It was time to be strong, he'd allowed himself to be feeble for far too long. It was time to keep his emotions suppressed, because there was no point in feeling. Feelings were another enemy these days. Killing Dumbledore was going to require a lot of strength, and he may as well start now. So while there seemed little point in actively avoiding or ignoring Granger, he couldn't allow himself to spend any time with her either. Everything seemed to intensify when he was near her, and that was something that was dangerous, especially now…

Harry told Hermione and Ron everything about his lesson with Dumbledore one misty Monday morning, bringing her firmly back to the present for possibly the first time since her late night encounter with Snape.

*"Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who," said Ron quietly, as they took their places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that formed this terms project, and began pulling on their protective gloves. "But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?"

"Dunno," said Harry, inserting a gum shield. "But he says it's all important and it'll help me survive."

"I think it's fascinating," she said earnestly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"*

She wasn't sure why she asked Ron to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, other than the fact that she was mildly attracted to him, he was good company, and it was inconceivable that the real person she wanted to ask could go with her. Ever.

Equally, she wasn't sure why it hurt so much to see him snogging Lavender. But it really did hurt. She sighed. Feelings were tricky.

To top it off, while Snape wasn't ignoring her, he was clearly pretending that nothing … unusual, had ever taken place between them. This was, of course, understandable given his precarious role as a double agent but all the same, it left her feeling as if she were flailing. He was never far from her mind, and she spent a great deal of time worrying about what the hideous thing he had to do was. And she worried about his wellbeing. With what little free time she did have, she'd taken to looking out of windows or looking down corridors to the dungeons to try and oversee when he was Summoned. That way at least she could be a little more aware of his physical state. It was nearly Christmas these days and while he didn't seem hurt, there was still a clear air of … sadness around him, clear to her at least, and it was awful to care about someone so much and not know what was wrong, or how to help.

Slughorn's party was certainly a spectacle. And while it had been immensely satisfying to see the look on Ron's face when he'd found out she was going with Cormac, all her date wanted to do was snog, and she certainly had no interest in that.

She'd just found a wonderful hiding place when she spotted Snape being pulled rather violently to the midst of conversation with Slughorn.

*"Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" hiccupped Slughorn happily.*

She blushed. Skulking Snape.

Suppressing a giggle she slipped further away to the edges of the party, and then to the bathrooms, not wanting her Professor to see her dishevelled and hiding.

She emerged some time later, feeling considerably more attractive and in no particular hurry to return to the party when Malfoy came storming past her, his pale face flushed. He shot her a dirty look but didn't slow down. Hermione frowned, thinking of Harry's suspicions and snuck back into the party in a very thoughtful frame of mind, darting behind a particularly long and loose gold hanging when she spotted McLaggen. She was just about to sigh in relief when she noticed that she wasn't alone in her hiding spot. Snape was there, and he looked angry. She didn't have time to decide if she was feeling more pleased to find herself in his company, or embarrassed given the circumstances when he surprised her by speaking first.

"Hiding, Miss Granger?" He said coldly.

Hermione felt a slight blush on her cheeks but met his heavy gaze evenly.

"Yes sir." She said calmly, deciding honestly may well be the best policy. Snape smirked. "I think I may have made a … a slight error in who I chose to accompany me to the party."

Her eyes fell on Cormac's tall figure wondering through the crowd.

Snape surprised her again by making no comment on her behaviour.

"How are you, sir?" She asked quietly. He looked at her again and she noticed how very dark the shadows under his eyes were. Her heart gave a little stutter.

"Well enough." He said, looking away again.

He'd actually answered her. Straight away. A feeling of unease settled in her stomach.

"Will you remain at Hogwarts over the holidays sir?"

"That is not my decision."

"Of course." She bit her lip. There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to know, but Snape did not seem in any mood to talk to her, and they couldn't talk freely in any case.

"Please take care of yourself over Christmas sir." She said, not turning to leave until he looked back at her and gave a stiff nod.

She didn't want to leave him. What was it he had to do? Something was so obviously wrong. She hesitated by the edge of the hanging, drew in a deep breath, then turned back to Snape, stepped quickly towards him and brushed the backs of two of her fingers lightly against his cheek. Hermione got a faint impression of a little stubble against her fingers and Snape's startled face going slightly pink before she turned on her heel and walked straight out of the party and straight to bed, her heart beating painfully in her chest.

So here's another chapter :) Thank you all so much for your support.

*Text in between asterisks* from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J.K Rowling.

These are my responses to guest reviewers so feel free to skip these last bits in future if it doesn't apply to you.

Mundy - thank you so much for another lovely review, your support has been wonderful and I'm so pleased you liked the last chapter. Uni's going great thanks - it's so good to be back :)

Vaila - Thank you! I'm glad you approve of my Hermione - I didn't want her to be really innocent because, as you say, it will makes things a little easier for our Severus ;) You could probably tell from this chapter that he's going to try to be stronger with Hermione - it was just the pain of what is happening with Dumbledore that made him a lot less strong last chapter - I'll try not to rush things :)

Amr - Thank you so much :) I really liked writing it this way, because we all know what's happened to Snape, but Hermione doesn't, glad you think it works and her actions with Snape are appropriate for the story. You're reviews are read and very much appreciated ;)

Lulu - Firstly one my best friends is called Lulu. Secondly, thank you for your review, I'm so happy you think their relationship is plausible - that's something that is really important to me, I want it to seem as though it could have happened. :)