A/N: Mentions of depression and suicide. Not terribly detailed, but it's there.

Chapter 1

The First of Its Kind

It had been nearly a year. Nearly a full year of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she wasn't dead yet.

She was quite glad.

According to the myth, most Defense teachers barely last a year, as her own schooling testified, and any who lasted more than that had their days numbered. So far, she didn't feel an inkling of fear or the tap of fate upon her shoulder. Instead, she felt great.

It had been years since Hermione had felt this good. She was constantly moving, getting sunlight, talking to fellow staff members and students, grading papers, creating her curriculum, and ensuring that her students learn as best as they could. Hell, she even managed to get a good walk around the lake once in a while before breakfast. And she felt so much better for it. She still had nightmares, and she still dealt with bouts of depression, but she had taken initiative and gotten an antidepressant potion every month from Draco Malfoy, who was the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, and had Crookshanks and a bottle of Dreamless Sleep by her bedside each night just in case of an emergency situation.

Oh, yes, Draco was there. Or rather, just "Malfoy" as she commonly referred to him. She was surprised to see that he was teaching at Hogwarts (she was sure somebody had mentioned this to her and she had not managed to let the fact sink in), which was a position that she had deemed too far below him for him to consider. But, alas, there he was, in the new Potions room, far from the dungeons where they'd had their own Potions lessons, teaching away in a confident yet rather gentle style that Hermione couldn't believe he was capable of. Within her first few months at Hogwarts, she'd managed to gain the gumption to confront Malfoy to ask him about his new position, only to find out he was just as nervous to talk to her as she was to him. Turns out, Malfoy had had a complete turnaround and a new lease on life, thanks to his new girlfriend and the turnout of the war. He'd learned how wrong his anti-Muggleborn upbringing had been, and now that his parents were locked within the walls of Azkaban for the next ten years, he was free to live life and have biases as he pleased, which happened to be far different than the life or biases he was raised with. Hermione was happy to find that now that Malfoy's prejudices were close to nonexistent, she could not only tolerate him, but had forged a friendship with him that kept her going out of the classroom. He'd become her new Harry, in a way, since Harry wasn't at her constant disposal.

She kept in contact with Harry, naturally, and owled him every week with news on how her classes were going, how Malfoy and, eventually, his new girlfriend were doing, and news on her students and the news implementations Minerva had planned for the curriculum across the entirety of Hogwarts. Harry was always happy to hear that she was doing well, and was equally happy to supply her with his own news about his job at the Auror Office and how he and Ginny were doing. Close to the end of the school year, he even announced that he and Ginny were to get married the following November. She was happy for them, naturally, but it didn't stop the pang in the empty cavity in her heart where Weasley should've been. It only made the nightmares with him in them more painful.

The first time she'd had a nightmare on campus was about three months into her first school year. It was just as bad, if not worse, than its predecessors. When she woke, sweaty, out of breath, shaking, and screaming, she took a calming draught and promptly sent her Patronus to Malfoy asking for help the second she felt the effects kick in. She didn't want to launch into a full panic attack when she had to teach classes for the entirety of the next day.

Malfoy came to her in a few minutes, asking her what was wrong. She told him about her nightmares, about her experience with Professor Snape in particular, and she could feel the stiffening of Malfoy's back as she mentioned his late godfather.

"His funeral was something else," Malfoy told her, even though she hadn't asked, "The only people who were there were a few of the Slytherins and some staff members. It was only after Potter released the details of his memories to the public that I found droves of people at his grave. Not to mention all the pathetic gifts and shit they left piled over his tombstone."

"I never really liked him, per say," Hermione added, "But I always knew there was something about him, something that made him more human than any of us. I suppose he let that bit of him show, in the Shack I mean," she took a shaky breath, "I mean it was Harry he was talking to… and looking at…"

"Granger, listen," Malfoy turned to her, sitting on the bed beside her and taking her hands in a show of affection that would later come naturally to the two of them the more they leaned on each other for support, "You know you couldn't have helped him, right? That this war… he was fighting it and knew the risks just as well as we did. He was as already gone when you saw him, and nothing could've changed that. You understand?"

"Of course, I understand," Hermione wiped her nose, refusing to inform him that even though she understood, it still felt good to be able to hear it out loud. "I just wish it didn't have to happen. He could've made a life for himself. Something beyond the pair of megalomaniacs he served all those years."

"No shit," Malfoy sighed, "Even those who got the chance to do just that squandered it without a second thought." At the mention of that, Hermione's mind instantly went to Weasley, and the dam broke, letting a flood of tears come down in trails of salt water prodded out of her eyes by heaving sobs, "Oh, fuck...Granger, I'm sorry...shit…"

Malfoy pulled her hands up so she could lace them around his neck. She grabbed onto him, desperate for comfort that she'd not really allowed herself, and let herself sob. She wanted it to be gone, the pain, the memories, all of it. She just wanted relief. And thank God for Malfoy, who was giving it to her.

The rest of the year consisted with at least a once-a-month nightly visit from Malfoy following one brutal nightmare after the next. Their contents were all the same now: Snape dying in the Shack, which his body morphing into Weasley's, him pleading for Hermione to end it… just end it all for me… I don't want this life anymore, 'Mione… I don't deserve it…

And each time she'd wake up, in a cold sweat, screaming at Ron… no, Weasley… to come back, to not slice himself, to not leave her. And each time, she'd take a calming draught and summon Malfoy, who'd hold her until her emotions were calmed enough to allow for a draught of Dreamless Sleep.

It was mid-April when her shift for night-patrol finally came up. She and Malfoy both were set to the schedule to patrol the castle from lights-out to one in the morning, which she was grateful for. She wasn't sure she could deal with patrolling the castle alone in the dark. Minerva understood Hermione's situation, she, after all, had seen the war just like Hermione and had her own plights to deal with because of it, and had scheduled Malfoy on purpose, bless her. The pair's second night in the castle was as uneventful as the first, until they heard whispers that did not belong to themselves coming from down a corridor. Hermione and Malfoy both pricked their ears, then Malfoy motioned for them to follow the sound. They placed night-seeing spells on each other's faces, then took off towards the voices.

It didn't take long before they were both taken down a familiar passageway that would lead them to the dungeons. Malfoy, apparently, thought nothing of it, but Hermione was whisked back to the past while her ears stayed pricked for sound in the present. She remembered walking this hall with Harry and Weasley, the boys talking about how horrible their Potions class was going to be, only to run into the very Professor they were shitting on in that very same hall. She wondered how many time Snape had walked up and down that hall, how many times he'd yelled at students in that hall… she nearly laughed in the middle of the deserted hallway. Since when had Snape's torment on herself and her peers become endearing? She nearly pissed herself in an effort to keep her laughter at bay at the notion.

As they ventured further, she and Malfoy could hear the voices becoming more distinct. She recognized them as a couple of fifth years she had in one of her classes, and his rueful look in her direction told her that he recognized them as well. They were nearing their old Potions classroom now, and the smell was becoming more mildewy than it had been when the hall was in use. They must've completely deserted the place once Snape had died, she gathered.

Sure enough, there was the old Potions classroom door, ajar with wandlight peering from the crack. She and Malfoy stopped nearby it, hearing the whispers become more audible and understandable. They waited to see what damage was being done before they prosecuted the intruders.

"...this is the place where he taught," said a young girl's voice in awe, "My mother had him for Potions and said his voice could be as small as a mouse's squeak, but could resonate through the whole room like a gong."

Accurate enough, Hermione agreed internally.

"My father said he was a right git," said another female voice, this one higher pitched, "Said he'd take house points from anyone but the Slytherins for the most minor offences. Even if you were taking notes when he didn't want you to, whenever that bloody was… if you were a Gryffindor, you were never safe."

Still accurate, Hermione thought again. She traded a knowing look with Malfoy, who's expression on his pale face told her that he, too, was agreeing with the young trespassers.

"Oh! This must be his journal!" said the higher pitched girl, who Hermione was beginning to remember as Gwendolyn Bones.

"Puh-lease," a boy's voice suddenly chimed in, who she instantly recognized as being a first year that she'd tutored in her sixth, Brendan Casey. He was in his fifth year now, as well, "If he was a real spy, he never kept a journal. Those are probably just some old notes or some shit."

"Brendan, don't be so rude," said the other unidentified girl, "He's a war hero. You know this stuff is worth a lot."

Ah, Hermione smirked, So that was their game. She traded another knowing look with Malfoy, who looked ready to jump in the room at that moment and claim his godfather's soon-to-be-stolen property. She motioned for him to stay back; they'd need dirt on these kids if they were really going to steal anything, and they'd need more than just the knowledge that these children knew that Severus Snape's personal property was worth more than the cost of their schooling.

"You know full well that's not my problem, Lacy," Brendan huffed, "You all make him out to be a hero just because he's got a tragic backstory."

"He was in love with a woman who never loved him in return!" Lacy huffed back in the most annoying voice Hermione had ever heard, "He had to watch her die and then spend the rest of his life risking his cover just to protect her son!"

"He's saved so many lives, Brendan," a much calmer Gwendolyn added, "He told Harry Potter the secret to defeat Voldemort when Dumbledore wouldn't. If anything, Dumbledore's the git."

"Dumbledore led the effort that Snape was fighting for," Brendan corrected and the lights moved further back into the classroom, "Snape was part of it by default. Sure he loved Lily Potter, great, but that doesn't mean he's a good person. And neither does trying to save Harry Potter. Couldn't you tell that Dumbledore had to goad him into it? Snape wouldn't have done anything if Lily Potter would've remained safe in the first place."

Hermione was intrigued by the conversation, but could see the childish flaw in it as well. As children do, they failed to see the full picture. She didn't bother correcting them in her head, she'd spent too much time thinking about the deceased man who once ruled over this part of the castle to brood on him whilst trying to catch students out past curfew. She chanced a peek inside while the threesome continued to talk about the dead Potions Master, and spied them by the podium and the row of cabinets and counters in the back of the room. Brendan, it seemed, was looking through the podium and out over the classroom, as if trying to imagine how Severus Snape once acted towards his class, while Lacy and Gwendolyn were pocketing old potions ingredients and books with notes stuffed inside from the cabinets above the counters. Without looking at him, Hermione tapped her left hand on Malfoy's arm quickly, signaling him to follow her as they invaded the trio's nighttime escapade as the two professors brandished their wands with two unspoken castings of Lumos.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Malfoy said in his most stern tone which Hermione assumed he reserved for his students alone, "But there's a store of ingredients in my classroom as well, Miss Bones. Or did the three of you require something of a more… rare variety?"

Hermione had to hold back a smile, in the theme of the moment she could hear Malfoy channeling the stern spirit of his godfather. It was working, too, do to the fear that latched on so quickly to both Lacy and Gwendolyn Bones that they dropped their ingredients and books with a series of loud thuds and cracks of glass on the stone floor.

"Ten points from Slytherin...each," Malfoy added at the looks of horror across each student's face, "Brendan, that's also ten points from Ravenclaw. Think I'd forget, did you?" Malfoy smirked at the boy, who looked about as rageous as his own Potions Master.

"You will all report to Headmistress McGonagall's office after breakfast tomorrow morning," Hermione instructed each of them, walking over to close the opened cabinet doors as the two girls sulked back to their Professor and fellow Slytherin, "If you are not there, there will be an extra week of detention along with whatever the Headmistress decides for you."

"Extra?" Brendan demanded, stepping away from the podium as Hermione brought her wand around to face him, "Aren't you lot supposed to punish us for this? The Headmistress doesn't get involved in cases like this."

"You would know, Casey," Malfoy growled at the boy, "But, for your information, you lot have not only been out of bed past curfew, you have also been stealing private property, which is more, at least in my opinion, than a detention-worthy offence."

Hermione saw Brendan Casey's eyes drop to the floor as Malfoy escorted them out. She stayed, as her fear of the dark was becoming less pronounced the more she taught in the dark castle, and looked around the old room. In fact, the classroom looked completely untouched since her own days as a student here four years ago. She could still see Professor Snape glowering down at them from the podium, or sweeping between the rows of tables assessing the damage they were all doing to their cauldrons. She smiled at the thought, then smiled wider at her own initial smile, thinking about how many braincells she must've lost to be recalling her horrid Potions classes as a fond memory rather than an absurd one.

She did wonder, though, why the room had never changed. It had been nearly three years since the war, and the dungeons of the castle had hardly been touched in the battle at Hogwarts, so why wouldn't anyone come down here? Why wouldn't anyone even use the rooms, already prepped for use? She looked around the room, assessing what was present. She saw the podium and the broken vials of ingredients cracked alongside the brittle books that lay toppled on the floor. She bent over to pick up the books, not being able to bear seeing a tome roughed up in such a way, ad caught a glimpse at one of the covers.

Advanced Potion Making. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. So the bugger had kept it after all…

Inside, just as she remembered, was the familiar spiky scrawl of Severus Snape, claiming the book to be "Property of the Half-Blood Prince". Below it, however, was a newer scrawling in that same handwriting which read, "Portraits reveal keys to the mind". She frowned at the note. Upon inspection, she saw there were no other notes on either inside cover, nor any that she could spot on the pages between them. She looked at the book, then to the room around her, then deposited the book back on the shelf- lest she become a hypocrite.

She was just shutting the dungeon door behind her when a chill swept through the air, sending one of its kind up her spine and making her shiver. It was an odd chill, not one that was necessarily cold per say, though the air down there was brisk to say the least, but a good chill- like the kind one gets when someone touches a very sensitive spot on their body and all they can do is shiver in response. She'd never experienced any sensation of that particular kind down in the dungeons… but she supposed there was a first for everything. Hermione looked around, pulling her night cloak around her more snugly and keeping her wand out as she mentally reviewed the night's events to better recall them to Minerva tomorrow morning.

She didn't see the pair of eyes watching her from down the hall.

A/N: Hey everyone! A quick update, I know, but I was too excited to post it! The story may seem a little choppy right now, and I apologize if it was hard to keep up, but if you get the idea that Hermione and Draco are chums, they both teach at Hogwarts, and they found students in the dungeons past curfew, then you got what's truly important! More Draco and Hermione friendship coming up as well as some answers to a few questions. Why was Snape's Potions classroom still furnished? Why weren't his belongings taken out of the room? Why aren't the classrooms used? And who exactly was watching Hermione? You probably already have some educated guesses, but the answers are coming in the next chapter! Happy reading!

-Cherry