She couldn't breathe.

That was what she remembered with the most clarity; the most urgency. She hadn't been able to breathe at all- at all. She had died, or at least that's what it had felt like. The terror, the hopelessness, the frantic longing for light and air; the final, bleak resignation… they were breaking around her like waves, even now, as she pulled in deep breath after overly deep breath, making herself giddy, unable to stop.

Her head was swimming, and the reason was far more complex than her desperate, rapid breathing alone. There was relief at being alive… a claustrophobic horror at finding herself back under the ground, even though she could see light streaming in through the mouth of the cave not far off… abject humiliation at the realization that it must have been Snape's feet at which she had landed, half-naked and half-dead… confusion and disorientation and disappointment acute enough to border on despair as it finally, really sank in that she was under the care of her former professor- the traitorous bastard who had murdered Dumbledore and slunk off into the night with the rest of the Death Eaters who'd attacked Hogwarts- instead of her much loved and trusted friend.

Harry. WHERE was Harry?

Apparently, that question was destined to go unanswered for at least a while longer. But in the mean time here came Elizabeth, clutching Crookshanks- the cat fully half the size of the child- against her chest like an overgrown, ginger-furred, smash-faced teddy bear. And there was comfort in that. Undeniably, there was.

She held out her arms (she was clad, she realized, in what had to be one of Snape's own shirts; black, too large, surprisingly soft) to both of them- the child and the cat, all at once. It was a happy reunion; as happy as could be hoped for, at any rate, under such less-than-ideal circumstances. Both Elizabeth and Crookshanks appeared to be acceptably healthy and well-cared-for, at any rate, and there was no denying that, one way or another, Snape had managed to drag her back from death's doorstep as well. Which was perplexing information, given everything else she knew about him… or thought she did.

It was food for thought, certainly. A whole lot of food for thought. A veritable feast.

Which reminded her, now she thought about it, that she was absolutely starving. How long had she been unconscious? How long without solid food? And before that, all those days upon days of scant, diluted rations at the Ministry. Her stomach actually cramped up at the thought of just how hungry she was; cramped up hard enough to cause her to fold herself over, wrapping her arms around herself, and to bring a little cry to her lips.

She mastered herself quickly though, for Elizabeth's sake. The girl seemed cheerful, but Hermione could tell that it was a skittery, nearly frantic sort of cheer. It was a mask, and a thin one, over… well, she wasn't exactly sure over what, and she would get to the bottom of it, make no mistake, but she wasn't up to it just at the moment. For the moment, it was all she could do to compose herself, because she could tell that despite Elizabeth's brittle smile, the child was seconds away from bursting into tears at the merest hint of something wrong.

"How about you show me what there is to eat around here," Hermione managed, in a voice that barely shook at all, pasting on an over-large, fake smile of her own.

00000

Not quite steady on her feet, she followed Elizabeth out of the cave and into the fading light of early evening. There were trees almost up to the cave's mouth, but there was a very small sort of clearing immediately out front. There was a kind of makeshift camp kitchen set up here; a fire, over which was suspended a kettle, pot-bellied and black; a handful of other pans stacked neatly off to one side; a spit for roasting meat; a large, neat pile of firewood; a few transfigured dishes- plain, but serviceable- and even a sort of improvised table and chairs. Just three small stumps set around a larger, slightly higher one near the mouth of the cave, but still she had to admit that given what he'd had to work with, the area looked downright… domestic. In the mouth of the cave itself hung several bunches of drying herbs.

He was crouching by the fire with his back to her as she approached, doing something with the kettle. Black clothes, black boots, black hair; tense, unhappy posture, tightly bunched muscles highlighted by the way his shirt stretched taut across his back, throwing his shoulder-blades into sharp relief. He was sharp; angular; edgy in more ways than one.

He was also a mystery.

He had saved her life. Elizabeth's and Crookshanks' too. But he had stolen Dumbledore's away. He had betrayed all that was just and good, that night at the end of sixth year; had thrown in his lot with the Death Eaters.

So what was she supposed to believe about him now? Just what in Merlin's name was she supposed to think?

It was too much to wrap her mind around in her still-groggy state. It was making her head ache.

Her reverie was cut short in any event, as he stood abruptly and turned to face her. His dark eyes were flat as he raked them down her from head to foot; a quick, cursory once-over.

"You're up," he said, curtly, then jerked his head toward the kettle. "I'd offer you some tea-" his voice turned snide- "that is, if you can trust me not to have poisoned it."

"I don't know," she snapped irritably, "can I?" She was in no mood for this brand of verbal sparring. The line of his mouth thinned, if possible, even more. God, this headache was going to be a monster. She raised a hand to her temple and sank miserably onto the nearest stump-chair, pressing her eyes closed. She didn't want to have to puzzle over the dark enigma that was Severus Snape. She didn't want to be here at all. She wanted Ron. She wanted Harry. She wanted her parents. She wanted to wake up and find that this had all been a nightmare, everything from that moment in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place on. She wanted to go home.

She felt tears threatening. But Elizabeth was watching. He was watching. She fought them back savagely.

"No need to sulk, Miss Granger." His voice, slightly mocking, was nearly at her elbow. "The tea is perfectly sound. Why poison you now, after you've been completely at my mercy these last few days?" She heard a clinking sound and opened her eyes to find that he'd placed a steaming cup of liquid in front of her. Elizabeth had slid into a seat on the opposite side of the table-stump and was still regarding her keenly.

Hermione managed to force a tired, weak smile. "Thanks," she said quietly. In truth, the tea really did look inviting. She raised the cup in a hand that shook just the slightest bit; took a sip. It was without question the best thing she'd tasted since before the… the invasion.

Hearing a sound that distinctly resembled a disdainful snort, she glanced up to find him smirking at her, his dark eyes inscrutable. Before she could gather her wits sufficiently to say anything more he turned and stalked off into the cave, losing himself in shadow and leaving her alone with an uncharacteristically silent Elizabeth, a rapidly cooling cup of tea, a sun that was going down, a mind that was fit to burst with questions she completely lacked the energy to tackle, and a headache that was now beginning to threaten migraine proportions.

00000

It was dark and she was underground and it felt as if the walls were closing in on her and she couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe.

She woke in a panic, lathered in cold sweat and shaking, bolting upright from a nightmare reliving of her last few moments at the Ministry, only to find that her current situation was nearly identical.

It was dark and she was underground and she couldn't breathe. She was coughing again, just as she had in the Ministry; so it took her several seconds to fully grasp the fact that she was, indeed, awake and that this was really happening to her, right here and now.

They were deep, wrenching, hacking coughs that made her chest ache and her throat burn. From her sitting position, she wrenched herself around onto her hands and knees, her blankets tangling around her into a snarled, sweat-sticky mess. Dropping her head nearly to the cave floor, her whole body heaved with the painful coughs that were ripping through her.

God, help, she thought desperately, just as she had in the seconds following her frantic Apparition; someone please… can't breathe… I'm dying…

And then he was there again. She couldn't see him; it was pitch black in the cave and her eyes were pressed shut anyway- but she could feel him; the sleep-heat radiating off his body, and she could hear him trying to speak to her over the sounds of her own coughing, and then he was gripping her fast by the upper arms, hauling her back into a sitting position, holding her hard against him, her back to his chest. She felt a hand pressed briefly to her throat, heard a quick incantation muttered, and the terrifying pressure, the closure of it eased off a bit. Then something- a flask- was being pressed to her lips.

"Drink if you can," he ordered her, in a voice that brooked no argument.

She gulped and spluttered. Whatever it was that he was offering her tasted foul… but immediately coated and soothed her burning throat. She went from mostly coughing with a few sporadic gasps thrown in to mostly gasping with a few coughs interspersed. A definite improvement… physically, at least. Her state of mind was a different story; still scattered, half-asleep and frantic.

She twisted around, again, until she was facing him; impulsively grabbed up fistfuls of his shirt, buried her face in it. Tried to get her breathing under control. She was beyond thinking through her actions at the moment. She just needed to be comforted… and there was no one else capable around.

There was a soft clunk as he placed the flask down beside them on the cave floor, and then she felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders. They might even have squeezed once, gently; a gesture that, had it come from Harry or Ron in that moment, would have been undeniably and beautifully comforting. The situation being what it was, however, it was merely perplexing and vaguely unsettling… if it was in fact real at all. Probably just a figment of her fevered imagination.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard; raised her head, if only marginally.

"I… I c-can't be underground right now," she managed to stutter out. "Please, you don't… understand. I have to get out. I need to see the sky. I need… I…" She dropped her head again, her forehead clunking against his collarbone. Her voice fell to a pathetic whisper. "Please help me."

He sighed and she thought she caught a word in it; the word shit, as a matter of fact. Then he was standing and pulling her up with him, steadying her on her feet. "Can you see your way to the entrance?" he asked, his voice low; directly in her ear. She could; a patch of darkness a short distance away that was not quite so complete as everywhere else; a faint suggestion of trees outlined against a star-studded sky. It reminded her suddenly, forcefully, of camping with her parents when she'd been a little girl; of how safe she'd felt, waking warm in her sleeping bag in the middle of the night, snug between their larger, peacefully slumbering forms, quietly unzipping the tent flap to lie awake awhile and stargaze. How simple the world had seemed when her age had been a single digit, long before she'd ever heard of Hogwarts, or the wizarding world.

Or Severus Snape, who killed some people and then saved others, apparently completely at random… if there was any method to his madness, she was nowhere near discovering it.

Or giants.

She fought back a new wave of tears brought on by the phantom of those long-ago family camping trips; forced her thoughts back to those that were her family now- or as good as.

"Where are Elizabeth and Crooks?" she asked suddenly, worried. "Surely they'd have heard… uhm… me."

"No," came that same quiet, steady voice. It would almost be pleasant- soothing in a way- if she could be sure it was trustworthy. But she could not. "I had an idea that your dreams might well be troubled tonight, so I enclosed Elizabeth in a soundproof bubble as soon as she fell asleep. The cat was curled up right beside her, so…" he trailed off and she thought she felt him shrug in the dark. Then, "well, come on outside if you must. I'll build up the fire."

"Yes, please," she said, absurdly grateful that he was offering to accompany her; she did not want to be alone just now. "I'll be there in a moment, only I want to check on them first."

He gave an exasperated huff. "If you check on them, Miss Granger, they will wake, and I would very much prefer them to remain asleep- that having been the entire point of the spell I performed, and all."

"I know," she said wretchedly, "I'm sorry. I just…"

"You have to see for yourself that I haven't horribly murdered them in their sleep." His voice was flat, inflectionless, and about a gazillion times worse than his exasperation of a moment ago. She felt a spasm of guilt; she was acting a complete ingrate and she knew it- but it passed. The fact was, she didn't know if she could trust him, and that was through no fault of her own. She had always, always respected him as a teacher, a scholar, an Order member. She might not have liked him, but she'd steadfastly defended him against Harry and Ron's accusations the entire way through school. She might not have liked him, but she'd believed in him… until that horrible, horrible night. And so her mistrust now was a direct result of his actions, his decisions. She felt her own irritation bubbling upward, rising.

"Well, you are a murderer," she snapped. "Maybe you choose to forget the fact, though I can't imagine how. But I can't forget it, and I never will."

She thought she sensed him stiffen in the dark, recoiling almost as though he'd been slapped; heard a sharp, hissing intake of breath. And then his footfalls crunching away from her, toward the cave's mouth, without another sound.

She felt a sudden, strong urge to go after him, but suppressed it. It played into that guilt thing again, and damn it, she wasn't going to buy into it! She'd only spoken the truth, after all. Let him react as he would. She had more pressing concerns. Such as checking on Elizabeth and Crookshanks. Her responsibilities.

Gritting her teeth, she whirled away from him, angry, frustrated, confused- forgetting, in the process, the heavy, tangled mass of blankets that clung to her legs, twining around them nearly all the way up to her hips.

An instant later she was falling, hard.

Her startled cry was answered by an explosive round of curses from behind her just as she hit the stone floor, white-hot pain lancing simultaneously through her right temple and wrist. Her wrist was broken; she knew it with an immediate and absolute certainty even as sparks danced across her vision. She blinked hard; tried to push herself up; failed. Clamped down on another cry as more pain blazed through her head and hand. She couldn't believe she'd fallen like that; how much more stupid, more clumsy, more completely worthless could she be? Merlin. Lights were still dancing in front of her eyes. Her head was spinning. And there were tears again. Of pain? Frustration? Complete and utter mortification? No one had seen her fall- but he had heard her, make no mistake. God, how humiliating. And then-

"Ah- UNGH!" she protested as he yanked her over and into a sitting position, simultaneously snarling,

"Lumos!"

The light was blinding; she slammed her eyes shut, a whimper escaping her despite her best effort to hold it in check. Her good hand flew up to shield her eyes further, grazing her temple in the process. It flared with pain and she hissed a sharp breath in through her teeth. Snape, still steadily swearing a blue streak, thrust her, none too gently, against the wall, leaving her propped in a sitting position with his glowing wand beside her, barking out something about going for his first aid kit.

Kicking weakly at the wretched, traitorous blankets, she watched him stalk away; a study in suppressed fury and, she thought, disgust. Her vision was beginning to waver, and she lowered her hand slowly from her head, registering, as she did so, that it came away from her temple sticky and wet. Holding it in front her face, she blinked dazedly at the red that coated her fingertips, trying to make sense of it, without success.

Her vision was narrowing, now, down to a tunnel; all she could see were the blood-coated tips of her fingers. All she could hear was her own harsh, uneven breathing, the sound rushing like wind in her ears- and then faintly, very, very distantly, a strange, high keening. Her head was swimming now, but she forced herself to look up, searching for the source of that sound- and saw, across the cave, Elizabeth sitting straight up in her little nest of blankets, her fair hair staticky and wild, eyes huge and dark in the dim light, looking back at her and screaming hysterically on and on and on; her tiny, vulnerable face a textbook picture of sheer childhood panic.

Of course- the light must have roused her; Snape had shielded her from sound, not from light. And she'd woken to… to this. Sweet Merlin, hadn't that child already been through enough? Would the horror ever end for her? For any of them?

No, Hermione tried to say, no Elizabeth, sweetheart, don't. But she couldn't seem to make the words come. She couldn't seem to make any part of her do anything anymore and Elizabeth was screaming and Snape was gone Merlin knew where, she didn't think he was in the cave at all anymore, and… God… she was woozy, just really, really tired and then she was sliding sideways down the rough, craggy stone wall, hitting the floor in a crumpled heap with her hair falling across her face and the light from Snape's wand pulsing now, it seemed, in time with her heart, and she thought she saw, maybe, as if through a thickly settling fog, a pair of booted feet returning to her at a run, but her eyes were dragging themselves closed now, she couldn't stop them and honestly, she didn't even want to anymore. Her arm hurt and her head hurt and everything was all wrong, the world was all wrong and she just- wanted- it all to go away.

So when the darkness and silence swept over her in a wave she offered no more resistance than a few drowsy, half-hearted blinks before finally allowing her eyes to fall shut, and the gentle, dark current to carry her away.

XOXOXOXOX

A/N: I suck! I know! It's been like nine freaking months! I could almost have had a baby! I'm sorry I'm sorry… hope there's still a handful of readers out there who haven't completely given up on this story. And then when I do update, I can't stop myself from heaping more and more abuse on Hermione… well then again, anyone who's ever read anything I've written knows that I can never stop myself from heaping abuse on Hermione. The more I like a character, the more she shall suffer- that's just the way it goes. Anyway, it's all yours Alex… have fun:o)