He got up at four, perfunctorily wondering what had possessed him to agree to let the annoying girl watch him brew. And then admitting to himself that he would have agreed to teach Harry Bloody Potter if the boy had asked him, simply for a break from the relentless monotony that was his daily existence.

How…desperate. He grimaced as he dried his face with the rough hand towel.

This could be a long day.

-o.o.o-

She arrived promptly at five minutes to five, rubbing her hands together and stomping her feet as she waited on the doorstep. "Good morning," she greeted him, teeth chattering. "Thank you again for…"

"Yes, yes, yes," he interrupted her. "Shall we just get on with it?"

He led her into the kitchen, where he had pulled over the table against the counter. The burner and cauldron had been set up on the – much lower – kitchen table, which left him most of the counter to work on. "You can put your things down over there."

Hermione pulled out a notebook and pen before setting down her bag. "Do you mind if I take notes?"

"If you wish," he said ungraciously. "You may stand over here. If you are ready? — The first thing to do is to pulverize the moonstone…"

She took fastidious notes — what to watch for in terms of quality, how to prepare the ingredients, exactly what tools to use.

"…and then you grind the Aconite itself, until you have flakes about the size of…"

She had almost forgotten how good a teacher he really was, if he wanted to be. The few classes where he had actually demonstrated a potion instead of leaving them to learn mostly via trial and error had been fascinating to watch. His long, elegant fingers moved gracefully, perfectly coordinated, sure of what they were doing.

When the preparations were complete, he lit the burner with the touch of a button. Blue flames sprung to life. "Now you wait until the water has reached a temperature of 69 degrees Celsius before adding the dried wolf's blood…"

Shortly after nine o'clock, he turned down the burner and set a timer. "After you add the Luna Moth scales, it has to simmer for exactly 37 minutes." He motioned to the chair, now standing by itself in the middle of the room. "You may sit down if you like."

"That's all right. I don't mind standing," she lied.

"All I have to do now is take the zest off the kumquats. It's not complicated."

"If I may ask a question?" she asked nervously while he demonstrated.

"If you must."

"Is this the only potion you brew now?"

"The other 27 days of the lunar month, the Ministry has me brew Antipyretic Potion and Fortifying Tonic," he said blandly.

Those were potions so simple a first year could brew them. It was akin to asking Van Gogh to paint your bathroom walls a nice even puce. Hermione again felt that uncomfortable twinge in her chest. Try as she might, she could not help picturing herself in his position — completely cut off, walled in, isolated, with nothing to keep him busy for most of the month except the most mundane of potions. For a man of his intelligence it had to be hell.

"Where did you learn to brew the Wolfsbane?"

He gave her a hooded look. "Are you sure you want to know the answer?"

She swallowed hard, then nodded her head.

"The Dark Lord sent me to Bucharest for a few months to serve as an apprentice with a Master there. In the first war, as well as in this one, he had werewolves fighting on his side. It was in his interest to keep them in a condition where they could…obey orders even after Transformation. "

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"Glad that you asked now, aren't you?"

For a moment, she had forgotten that she was with a Death Eater and a murderer. She didn't like the reminder. "No." She sighed. "I wish… But I suppose what I wish doesn't matter." She gave a bitter little laugh. "Do you know — those notes that the Order received? I hoped until the very end those were from you."

"And now you know that they were not."

"I suppose so. Though I still find it hard to believe that it was Draco." Those notes had been vital in bringing about Tom Riddle's downfall. After Malfoy had reproduced their contents verbatim in front of the Wizengamot, he had been cleared of all charges. "I guess I just never considered Malfoy that important. That he would be that deep in Voldemort's confidence."

It still rankled. For so long, those notes had given her hope that Dumbledore hadn't been a senile old fool after all, that he had not been that grievously mistaken in his trust in Snape. Malfoy's testimony had put that hope to rest once and for all. It had been a bitter pill to swallow.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Malfoy. A true hero of the wizarding world he turned out to be." His tone was bitingly sarcastic.

Hermione eyes narrowed. "Well, some people would think he is."

"Make no mistake," he said bitterly. "Draco Malfoy is loyal to no one but himself and his family."

Hermione's temper flared. "You're a fine one to talk of loyalty."

He continued as if he had not heard her. "He put on a good show, didn't he? I remember even Potter eating crow during that trial. 'Couldn't have done it without him.' Quite ironic, wasn't it?"

"So Harry was wrong about him," she said defiantly. "Dumbledore was wrong about you, wasn't he? I'd rather take Harry's kind of wrong any day." She felt her cheeks grow red. That had probably not been a good thing to say if she wanted to continue watching him brew the Wolfsbane. Even if it was true.

His eyes glittered dangerously. "Watch your mouth, Miss Granger."

"Well, you can't expect me to just…"

It all happened in the fraction of a second. As she gestured with an emphatic sweep of her arm, she made contact with an open jar lined up on the kitchen counter. With a loud clunk, the force of the impact sent the jar flying — right into the bubbling cauldron. Hermione whirled around, looked wild-eyed at the smoke suddenly starting to rise — and then found herself grabbed by her upper arms and spun around as Snape pulled her tightly against himself, shielding her right as the cauldron exploded in a spray of boiling hot, poison-green droplets. The force of the explosion forced Snape forward a couple of feet, nearly making him stumble.

When the roar and hiss of boiling liquid had died down, there was a moment of stunned silence.

"Oh my God," Hermione whispered, while his arms were still holding her convulsively to him. "Are you all right?" She looked up to see his eyes closed, his face contorted in pain. "Oh Merlin, you're not. This is all my fault. Oh God. What's the matter? Let me see!"

She extricated herself and quickly stepped behind him, trying not to fall as the potion turned the floor slippery. "Your back!" The back of his robe was covered with potion — potion that would have been scalding hot when it hit him. Her hands shaking, she quickly Vanished the potion from the thinning wool and then liberally doused the back of his robe with cold water. Other than a stifled gasp when the cold water hit his back, he hadn't said or done anything. "Please, Sir, what do I do?"

"I think I should lie down." He pivoted sharply and headed back towards the living room and then up a narrow staircase.

"Sir? Please? Are you all right?" Hermione anxiously hovered behind him. If he should fall, would she be strong enough to catch him? She pulled her wand back out, just in case. "Please talk to me! How bad is it?"

He didn't answer, simply plodding along unsteadily until he reached the bedroom. It was as barren as the rest of the house. A narrow bed was lined up along one wall, a plain pine chest of drawers on the other. The window was half-blind, covered in grime.

"Here, let me help you." Hermione took him by the elbow and supported him as he slowly, painfully lowered himself, until he finally lay rigidly, face-down on the bed.

Her heart hammered as she knelt down next to him. What now? "Sir… I'm going to have to cut your robe. Just hold still." She slid her wand into the neck opening of his robe, then pulled up, neatly severing the fabric. As carefully as possible, she made her way down, following the line of his spine. Trying to get the robe off him otherwise would require too much movement. Oh Merlin, he had to be in so much pain…

"Sir, I'm just going to check…"

His breathing was rapid and shallow. When she reached out haltingly to touch his neck, the bare skin was clammy and cold under her fingers; she could feel his pulse, fast and thready… Was he in shock? What was one supposed to do again?

After wavering a moment, she started gingerly peeling the soaked fabric away from his back. She stopped after just a couple of inches. His skin, an angry, mottled red, was already starting to rise into large blisters. "Oh no." Her voice caught. This was beyond anything she knew how to handle. "You need a Healer for this."

How was she supposed to get a Healer? He couldn't leave the house, and most Healers, she knew, couldn't care less about some Death Eater's injuries. And the Ministry, if it took action at all, would take forever… He needed help now. She could go to an apothecary, but what should she get? This seemed beyond the scope of a simple Burn Paste. "Sir, I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

"Pomfrey." His voice came muffled from where he had buried his face against one arm. "Get Poppy Pomfrey."

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione sat back on her heels, taken by surprise. Yes. Of course. The matron had taken a job at St. Mungo's after the headmaster had died. The Artifact Accident Department. Exhaling with relief, she got up quickly. "All right, Sir." She awkwardly put her hand on his arm. "You just keep still. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Sprinting out of the back door, she Disapparated as soon as she was outside the wards.

A moment later, she reappeared in the lobby of St. Mungo's. She practically flew up the stairs towards Artifact Accidents. It took her only a few minutes to find Hogwarts' former matron straightening up a supply cupboard.

"Madam Pomfrey…please, I need help…"

"You look fine to me, child," Pomfrey answered, looking her keenly up and down.

"Not me. Professor Snape. It's all my fault…" Hermione felt herself begin to tear up. "Please, he needs help, and he can't leave the house…"

"Severus?" Pomfrey gave her a sharp look. "I was under the impression that he was in Azkaban."

"That's what they want everyone to think. I suppose they figured that way no one would come looking for him. Please come; I'll explain later," Hermione said desperately.

Pomfrey nodded. "Tell me what happened?"

"A burn. His back. A cauldron exploded. I think it's bad."

One thing she had always loved about the matron was that the older witch had never wasted a lot of time on asking questions when there was work to be done. Today was no different.

"Come with me, then." Hermione in tow, she hurried over to another cabinet and stuffed assorted jars, vials, and bandages into a bag. "You'll have to take me. I don't know where we're going. While we go, tell me what happened. And what in the world you are doing with Severus Snape."

-o.o.o-

"…so fast I didn't even have time to react. And he…he just stood in front of me." In the time it had taken them to get back to Spinner's End, Hermione had filled Pomfrey in on the events of the last few months and hours. "It should be me up there."

Her thoughts swirled in confusion as she hurried back up the stairs to his bedroom.

Why had he done that? It just didn't make sense. Why protect her?

"Sir, we're back…"

He was still on the bed, his fingers digging into the corners of the mattress, his arms shaking with the strain. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head slightly. Hermione's stomach twisted painfully at the expression on his face.

"Severus." Pomfrey hurried over and knelt down next to his bed. "Miss Granger here tells me you had a run-in with a rabid batch of Wolfsbane." She made a clicking noise with her tongue. "Well, let's have a look, shall we?" She carefully lifted the flap of fabric off his back, looked for a moment, then gently put it back down.

Her voice grew soft as she put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Severus, but I'm going to put you under for this."

"No," he said in a flat, hoarse voice. "I prefer to be in command of my faculties."

"Don't be daft. I can't imagine anyone going through that kind of pain if they don't have to." Pomfrey took a vial from her bag and removed the stopper. A tap of her wand, and the stopper had Transfigured into a drinking straw. "Here, drink this."

He gave her a hard look.

With a sigh, the matron stretched out her hand and ran it lightly over his hair. "Don't fret yourself. You just go to sleep, and when you wake up, you'll feel much better. I'll take care of you. I promise."

He closed his eyes with a soft sigh of acquiescence. "Go on, then."

Still stroking his hair, Pomfrey lifted the straw to his lips, and he emptied the vial obediently. Within a minute, his muscles unclenched and his body sagged, the tight lines around his eyes and mouth relaxing. He was unconscious.

The matron turned to Hermione, who had watched the display of tenderness with bewilderment. "Don't you give me that look," she said with asperity. "He can go back to being a murdering traitor tomorrow. Right now he's just someone who needs help."

"Of course." Hermione pulled herself together. "What do you want me to do?"

For the next quarter of an hour, Hermione poured on ointment while Pomfrey slowly worked the fabric off his back.

She gasped when the robe finally came off. The burn ran from his shoulders almost down to the small of his back. It looked horrid. In spite of Poppy's best efforts, the skin over some of the blisters had torn away, leaving behind ugly, raw, liver colored sores. In other spots the skin was a bloodless, dead looking white.

Pomfrey looked up from where she was working. "It looks worse than it is. It will feel tight for a month or two, and there might be a bit of scarring in some of the areas where the burns are the deepest. But he'll be all right."

"I'm glad," she said in a small voice, feeling faint with relief. She had some idea what a wound like this would have meant in the Muggle world. Being a wizard certainly had its advantages.

"Well, let's see…" Pomfrey had walked over to her bag. "Yes, this should do… Poor Severus. I'm glad he won't be awake for this."

Hermione looked hesitantly at the matron. "Did you…do you know him well?" The nurse had seemed so…familiar with him.

"Does anyone really know him well?" There was a tinge of bitterness in her voice. "No, not really. But I knew his mother." She poured the contents of one vial into one of the jars, then added a pinch of a pale lilac powder.

"Eileen Prince?" Hermione said in surprise.

Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. "You know about her?" She stirred the contents of the jar together with a wooden stick.

"Not much more than the name."

"She was in my year." She smiled. "We got Sorted right after each other. Pomfrey and Prince. We both ended up in Ravenclaw. I liked her well enough. She and I and Phyllida Snape became good friends. Mind you, the Princes weren't very happy with her being chummy with a half-blood and a Muggle born. — Now watch, you'll have to do this later. I assume you'll be staying to take care of him?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course." Phyllida Snape?

After casting a quick antiseptic spell on her hands, Pomfrey began to gently smooth the pungent ointment over his back, slowly and methodically working her way down. "Where was I? Oh yes. That's how Severus here came to be, you see. After Eileen left Hogwarts at eighteen, she went to visit Phyllida and met her brother. Tobias. They fell madly in love and were married just three weeks later. It was all wildly romantic." Pomfrey smiled to herself. "I was a guest at their wedding. The Princes didn't come, of course. It was the scandal of the season. A Prince, marrying a lowly Muggle… Severus was born right before their first anniversary. I was invited to the Christening, as well."

She touched the unconscious man lightly on the upper arm. "You were an adorable baby, you know?" she said, before looking back up at Hermione with a grin. "Wouldn't he just hate to hear me talk like this? — We met for lunch in Diagon Alley a couple of times after that, just to catch up. Our lives were rather busy at the time, you understand. She had the baby; I was training at St. Mungo's…

"They lived with his mother for a while, until they were able to afford the down payment on a small house somewhere. But Eileen seemed happy enough with her lot. I didn't see her again until a couple of years after that. Until she got sick." Her face sobered. "Ovarian cancer. They didn't catch it until it had spread. Some things even the wizarding world can't cure." After this many years, Hermione could still hear the pain in her voice. "We did what we could. It wasn't enough. She passed away when Severus was four."

She stood up briskly and walked over to the dresser. "Let's see if he has something to wear." The contents of the drawers were meager. A couple pairs of underpants, a second robe, two long gray nightshirts. "Pshaw." With a wave of her wand, she Transfigured one of the night shirts into a pair of pajama bottoms. "Sometimes Muggles have the better idea. — Did you see any tea tree oil in the kitchen? I forgot to bring that. We'll be all right without it, but if you can find some…"

"I'll look. Call me if you need me." Hermione found herself reluctant to go. She wanted to hear more. So what had happened to him after his mother had died? Had his father raised him? It seemed decidedly strange to imagine her oh-so-Slytherin Potions master as a small boy, being raised by a Muggle.

When she reached the kitchen, she looked at the mess with a sigh. A quick wave of her wand took care of the sticky, drying potion that covered the floor. The counters were still littered with the remainders of their brewing that morning. Quickly, she surveyed the bottles and jars lined up on the counter. No tea tree.

She opened a cabinet door under the counter. Not here, either. She tried the one on the other side of the sink. Empty, except for a single pot and a bottle of washing-up liquid. Two sets of cutlery and a rusty can opener rattled around in one of the drawers, the other held mouse droppings and a none-too-clean kitchen towel.

The hanging cabinet to the left yielded only a few more potion ingredients on the top shelf — none of them what she was looking for — and two plates, two mugs, and a small bowl on the bottom one. A quick survey of the shelf on the right revealed a dozen cans of baked beans, a couple packets of rolled oats, and a bottle of multivitamin pills.

Hermione took it out and looked at it, a bitter twist to her mouth. It should come as a relief, she supposed, that the Ministry at least didn't intend for him to die of scurvy. Ye gods. Small wonder he looked so sickly, if this was all he ever got to eat.

She turned around with determination and walked back up the stairs. Pomfrey had cleaned and straightened the bed, and was just casting a warming spell on the thin blanket she had pulled up to Snape's waist. Hermione looked at the still, unconscious man. She was glad that he wasn't suffering, but he looked…limp. Lifeless. It made her shiver. Please be okay, she thought.

"No tea tree oil. But I can get that at a Muggle Chemist's. I need to go shopping anyway. There's nothing to eat in the house." She took a deep breath. "And I'll have to inform my boss that he has two days to somehow come up with 237 doses of Wolfsbane Potion on the free market." She was not looking forward to that interview.

Pomfrey nodded. "He'll be hungry when he wakes up. You'd better stock up. He'll need lots of protein and extra calories with an injury like this. And lots of fluids. And don't forget about the tea tree oil. I'll stay with him until you get back."

-o.o.o-

Two hours later, the two women were sitting next to Snape's bed, on the bench that Pomfrey had Transfigured from the kitchen chair, sipping tea from chipped mugs.

"He looks better already." The angry red of the burns was starting to fade. Some of the skin had a dry, taut look to it; other parts were still oozing clear fluid.

"He should sleep for at least another hour or so. By the time he wakes up, the pain should be bearable." Pomfrey had spent the last half an hour giving Hermione detailed instructions on how to care for her patient. "By tomorrow, he'll only need the treatment three times a day instead of every hour. So you'll be able to return to work, as long as you check in on him during lunch."

"I will. It's the least I can do."

Pomfrey leaned forward slightly, eyeing her patient. "Well, this certainly brings back memories."

"You must have taken care of him many times, over the years..."

"Oh, quite. I had him up in the hospital wing often enough. Always getting into scrapes, that boy. He and some of the other students didn't get along. They used to take turns making more work for me. Even if I do have to say that Severus seemed to get the short end of the stick more often than either of them."

"Did his father ever come to visit him?" She wanted to find out more about his family. It was a stupid question, she knew — luckily Pomfrey seemed too lost in memories to notice. Hogwarts didn't seem to think that parents needed to be notified unless it became necessary to transfer their offspring to St. Mungo's. She had been rather glad that her own parents had never found out that she had spent three weeks as a rock, and no one had bothered to tell them…

"He hardly ever had visitors at all. He's always been a loner. Kept everyone at a distance. Mind you, I can't say I blame him. After the sort of childhood he had — first his mother gone, then his father, and being raised by Decimus Prince… Not anyone's idea of a loving father figure, that man. Seemed to treat Severus more like some kind of ugly stepchild. There was money enough in the Prince household, but Severus had to content himself with second hand robes and books borrowed from the school's supplies. No, he had good reason to think he couldn't trust anyone but himself."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "What happened to his father?"

"Shortly after her death, Decimus – Eileen's brother, you understand – came to their house." Her eyebrows shot up in sudden understanding. "This house, maybe, hm? Anyway, Toby was at work. Phyllida was watching Severus when Decimus broke down the door and demanded his nephew. There was a terrific row. Phyllida tried her best, but he was too strong for her. And once the Princes had the boy, there was no way to get him back. The Ministry would never have sided with a Muggle father." She smiled bitterly. "I didn't see Severus again until he started Hogwarts."

"And Tobias?" she asked softly.

"Heartbroken, of course. What did you think? Losing first his wife and then his son? And things only got worse after that. The Princes were one of the first families to align themselves with Him-who-must-not…with Voldemort. Phyllida and her brother started to receive threats — nasty messages, dead animals on their doorsteps. Sometime in the late seventies, they disappeared. I hope she decided to run away, to take Toby to some place safe, far away from England. But I'm not sure." She gave Hermione a watery smile. "I never heard from her again. But I can hope, can't I?"

Reaching over, Hermione gave her hand a soft squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"I think that maybe knowing all that I was a little too sympathetic with Severus the first few times he came to the hospital wing. After that, he would only come when it was absolutely necessary, or if his Head of House or Albus made him. As a child and as an adult. He used to drive me spare — I'd see him limping around or obviously not feeling well, and if I asked him what was the matter, he'd just brush me off. Too proud for his own good."

"And yet," Hermione said softly, "when he needed help today, he told me to get you."

"Yes." Pomfrey sighed. "Maybe I should have tried harder. Maybe we all should have. I've always had a soft spot for him, but – to tell the truth, I could see why people found him a hard child to like. Cynical, arrogant, his tongue at least as effective a weapon as his wand. As soon as anyone tried to get closer, he'd roll up like a hedgehog, and all anyone within an arm's length would get was a handful of prickles. I guess he'd decided by then that people were just bound to be a disappointment, so why bother?"

Pomfrey drained the last dregs of her tea and put the mug down on the top of the dresser. "I wonder if his life would've turned out any differently if someone hadn't let a few prickles discourage them. If someone had made the effort to get to know him. I think he could have used a friend." She stood up, stretching after sitting for so long. "But then, Albus probably got the closest of anyone, and look what it got him…I still can't say I understand any of that. I just never thought that Severus—" She dropped her hands to her sides in a gesture of bewilderment. "Well, I'd better get back to work. I've taken off too much time as it is. I think you'll do fine from here on. Let me know if you have any trouble."

-o.o.o-

After Pomfrey had left, Hermione sat by Snape's bed, chewing her lip.

He would still be asleep for at least half an hour. That was plenty of time to face some very inconvenient truths. As she looked down at the motionless man, she felt the familiar twinge in her chest. She had never liked him when she had been his student. Respected him, yes. But liked? So what had brought her to this?

Hermione leaned forward, studying his face intently. It was an unlovely face, all sharp lines and beaky nose. Bitter and harsh, even in his sleep.

She smiled. A hedgehog. The description fitted him. She had run into his prickles often enough.

So why did he make her feel like this?

She'd read about women who fell for convicts, had heard about "bad boy syndrome". She'd never thought that she would be one of them.

But the truth was that there was attraction. Attraction that she intended to do nothing about. She had too much sense to think that there was anything normal or healthy about feeling attraction for someone like him.

He's a convicted murderer, she reminded herself. He had freely admitted to that before the Wizengamot. He had even admitted it to her. Nothing was going to change that. Even if she had a hard time reconciling that image with the one of his arms around her, using his own body as a shield. It didn't fit. But, she thought bitterly, maybe some puzzles simply weren't meant to be solved.

It was too easy to forget what he had done when she was faced with this pale, thin man, so proud, bitter, desolate. It had been much easier to hate him in the abstract. But now… When she looked at him, something inside of her responded. It wasn't anything she could help, the way he touched her heartstrings. Even if it was wrong, it was real.

Slowly, she stretched out her hand. Her pulse sped up wildly, as if she was doing something forbidden, taboo.

Hesitantly, she put the tips of her fingers against his cheek. "Sir…" When there was no reaction, she let her fingers travel over his face, tracing the lines of his cheek bone, his jaw, the bridge of his nose.

She thought Harry's losses had been terrible. So had Snape's. And Harry had at least had friends who had stood by him through thick and thin. It didn't sound as if there had ever been anyone for Snape, not since he was four years old.

Her heart in her throat, she let her hand rest across his forehead. Slowly, gently, she stroked his hair, the way Pomfrey had done.

She could imagine now why he had joined the Death Eaters. Maybe he had thought of it as a way to win the approval of his uncle. To show Decimus that he was worthy of being called a Prince, half-blood though he was. Maybe it had been to finally find some place where he wouldn't be alone, some place where he would be treated as valued, as equal. It would be an easy trap to fall into.

But she wouldn't think of the Death Eater today. Today, she would keep in her mind the image of him holding her tightly while a cauldron showered his back with boiling liquid. Today she would remember the way he had saved Katie Bell, had saved Dumbledore – Dumbledore! – from the Horcrux spell; the way he had blocked Quirrell, had protected the Stone, had watched over them, again and again and again. He couldn't be all bad. Not after doing all that.

Her heart contorted painfully as she cupped the crown of his head with her hand, still stroking softly.

Pomfrey was right. He could go back to being a murderous traitor tomorrow.

Thank you for reading so far! The last chapter should go up on Monday.