If only I'd thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]

Hermione was still holding the scrap of parchment between her shaking fingers when her mum made it back down the stairs. Upon hearing her mother reach the final step, she dragged her eyes away from the scratchy font and tucked the note into her trouser pocket, focusing on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself down.

"Okay poppet, Dad will be home in an hour or so, what do you want to do tonight?" her mum called out.

Hermione forced herself to raise her head, animate her eyes and smile. "Not sure yet Mum, might just take a quick shower and then decide. It that alright?" she asked softly, pleased that she had managed to come up with a vaguely plausible reason to get out of the kitchen. Though she had managed to plaster an unconcerned expression on her face, Hermione could feel the trembling in her limbs, the note almost burning a hole into her leg. Her mother was observant, she would notice before long that everything was far from alright.

"Of course, there are fresh towels in the cupboard," she agreed brightly.

Hermione moved towards her bedroom, her legs like lead. She mechanically removed clean pyjamas from her chest of drawers and went into the family bathroom. When the latch secured the door in place, she choked back a sob, letting her hands pull manically at her hair as she leant against the wall. Shaking herself, she twisted her body to push her hand through the shower curtain and turn the water on. You knew this was coming; she tried to tell herself. She hadn't thought it would be so soon though.

"HERMIONE!" her mother's voice shouted up the stairs, breaking through the fog that had started to pull her deeper.

Oh God, what now?

Hermione hastily switched the water off and bounded down the stairs two at a time. "What, what is it?" she called breathlessly, whipping her head back and forth looking for potential threats, but there was nothing, just her mother in the kitchen. Her heart rate began to slow as her mother looked at her quizzically.

"What on earth's wrong with you?" she asked concerned, "I was only calling because of him." Her mum pointed to the window where another owl was sat. This one didn't look anywhere near as mean as the last, but it didn't stop Hermione's stomach dropping to her feet. It may not have been as intimidating as the last creature that flew through the window, but another unfamiliar owl after the note she had received was unlikely to bring good news.

"I'm sorry to have called you darling, I tried to take the message from him, but he kept flapping away from me," her mother explained, shooting an exasperated look at the bird. "I thought he would wait for you to come down, but every time I turned my back to carry on with something else he hooted at me, it must be important."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She walked towards the owl slowly and stroked the feathers that had become dislodged from its thrashing around her kitchen, the little bird seemed to sigh into her touch, and Hermione relaxed a little. Now, more convinced that the owl wasn't preparing to attack her, she undid the note tied to its proffered leg and fed it a treat from the box by the window. It made no move to leave, so she assumed it had been instructed to wait for a response. Hermione opened the note carefully, in a manner not dissimilar to when she opened a present from Fred and George; curious though on alert, as if something on the inside could reach out and grab her.

When the script became visible she sagged, at least this writing was familiar, very unexpected, but familiar. Under normal circumstances, she would have been suspicious of the intentions that motivated the note, but given the day she had thus far, she would need to take a leap of faith to ensure her parent's safety. Hermione turned back to the window and picking up her quill hastily wrote her accent on a side of parchment, and sent her reply back with the rested bird.

After she had reassured her mother there was nothing to worry about Hermione hastened back up the stairs for her planned shower. She would need the time to straighten her head out before her father got home.

Once securely under the pulsing jets of the water, Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding since the first note had arrived.

There was no more time for deliberation; she had to act.

When she left the bathroom Hermione half dried her hair before braiding it away from her face; her movements were stiff and unhurried as her mind continued to run over plans that needed to be put in place. She walked onto the landing and once she had assured herself that there was no one on the top level of the house Hermione hurriedly entered her father's study, firing up the email system that he had painstakingly shown her how to use earlier that summer.

As her life was now mainly submerged in the Wizarding world, she had become less adept with the technological advancements of the Muggle one, and knowing the dangers that were coming Hermione had tried to learn as much as possible from her dad, as inconspicuously as possible. That her father had never even suspected she had ulterior motives made the almost permanent pressure of guilt stab harder into her chest. There was no time to dwell on those thoughts now, taking a deep breath she clicked the send button on the first of her planned emails.

Returning down the stairs Hermione saw that her dad had arrived home from the practice. He looked tired, pressing his hands around the mug her mother gave him, as he readily described something about one of the more difficult patients that day. Her mother bit her lip in an attempt to prevent the threatening laughter. He always got the tougher patients, while Hermione's parents were both kind people her mum could be a little reactive at times making her unsuited to deal with the argumentative, older patients. When David Granger saw Hermione in the doorway, he smiled at her and pulled out the chair next to him at the kitchen table. Hermione felt her heart clench at the familiar gesture, her father wasn't prone to kisses or hugs like some dads she had seen on the train platform over the years, but he always liked her near him. His affectionate gestures were always heartfelt; his smiles always reached his eyes. She took the seat gladly, close was what she wished to be, even if the lump in her throat choked her.

"So your mum tells me you were undecided about what you wanted to do tonight?" he said and then looked down at her pyjama clad form. "Am I to take it from your attire that we are housebound?" His face broke into a warm smile; her father was always happier staying at home rather than going out, he liked the simple things, especially following a rough day at work.

Hermione forced herself to speak, though just looking at his expression caused almost physical pain; she couldn't waste this time. "Yes, I thought we could get a takeaway, then maybe watch a crap film?"

That was what they did.

Hermione spent the evening tucked up between her parents on the ageing living room sofa, exchanging laughs and grimaces at the awfulness of the film, interspersed with complaints from all of them that they had eaten too much food. She pushed thoughts of later away, as much as possible, and instead tried focus on all the little details that she was surrounded by, maybe for the last time. The particular tender tone of her mother's laugh, the different light-hearted groans her father made. The sheer feeling of love in the room, simple, easy, affectionate love.

Once her parents had gone to bed, Hermione packed up her room, removing any trace of herself and placing everything into her magically enlarged school trunk. It took some time, but once done the room appeared to be just a nice guest room, rather than the bedroom of a beloved family member.

Hermione slinked out of her night clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans, a jumper and some trainers, then, with nothing else she could do for now, she sat on the end of her bed, waiting.

It had been easy when she was moving, she almost wished she had been less prepared, or a messier person, so that the pack down would have taken longer. When her hands got too restless, Hermione pulled out the parchment notes, opening the second one to arrive she read it again, for the hundredth time.

Miss Granger - I have news that pertains to the safety of your family, this matter is of the highest importance. Confirm you are available to speak tonight at 1 am - I will come to you.

Hermione glanced at the clock above the mantel 12.59. Seconds later there was a pop of apparition and her view was blocked by the sight of black billowing robes, the newly arrived figure turned on their heel dexterously, revealing the expected sour face of Severus Snape.

Hermione paused, now he was there other emotions permeated her mounting fear, and she became aware of how bizarre the situation was. It was one in the morning, and the Hogwarts Potions Professor was in her bedroom, if someone had predicted that turn of events even a week prior she would have assumed they were barking mad. Hermione wasn't sure what to say, the 'hellos' and 'how are yous' of polite conversation seemed somewhat redundant in this situation. The growing silence was, at length, broken by the man sighing, then, without waiting for an invitation, he sank into her desk chair and threw some silencing spells Hermione didn't entirely recognise at the door.

She questioned whether she should be frightened or not. Hermione had never trusted her professor, though she did not share the same sense of rage against him as Harry did, then he had never treated her quite as poorly. His note implied he knew about a potential threat to her family, a threat that by some bizarre twist of fate someone else had already tried to warn her of. Her mind whispered to be cautious, she would have been anyway, he wasn't a man anyone was blasé around, but if he did know something, there was only one way he could be in possession of that information.

This was not a child's game anymore.

"Miss Granger," his cold drawl filled the space, and Hermione failed to suppress a wince at the sudden sound. "I'm going to need to explain some things to you, and we do not have long, so, to get through this process as expediently as possible, you are going to suppress your ridiculous need to ask as many questions as possible," he directed sternly.

"Sir, I agree, but first-"

"Miss Granger, please, you cannot say you agree but then immediately interject," he said crisply.

"No, I know, it's just," Hermione sucked in a breath and tried to ignore his heated glare. "What was stolen from your potions store during my second year?" she asked hesitantly, unwilling to rile him but not wanting to be chastised later for failure to uphold proper security standards. It seemed that her repeated exposure to the real Mad-Eye Moody over the previous summer had somehow rubbed off.

Realisation settled over his face, and Hermione thought she saw a faint glimmer of approval in his eyes before he answered. "Boomslang Skin, and the less we dwell on thefts for which you have gone unpunished, the better. May I continue?" he asked mockingly. Hermione wasn't sure it was best to speak at all now, so she simply nodded her assent.

"Well, first things first as you have probably already deduced I am a Death Eater, no doubt Potter told you that he had seen my mark." He rushed out; his frank declaration had surprised Hermione as had the sharp tone he employed as he mentioned Harry, even he didn't normally sound so acerbic. His last comment was not framed as a question. For the millionth time since she had met the man, Hermione wondered what on earth Harry had done to make him hate him so very much.

Before she could help herself she blurted out, "But I thought you had left… Sir."

Professor Snape's eyes fell on her with cold fury. "It is not a social club, Miss Granger. Did you imagine that a society that requires a pound of figurative and literal flesh to join would allow you to leave its number? What did you imagine that would entail? A polite note, respectively declining further attendances sent directly to the Dark Lord? Again, please do shut up."

Thoroughly chastised and realising the gravity of the situation was even greater than she had first assumed Hermione moved to sit on the edge of her bed in front of the glowering professor and dutifully made no other sound.

"You do not need to know all of the details, nor will you get them from me. I shouldn't even be telling you any of this." Professor Snape closed his eyes and appeared to be at war with himself for a moment before he reopened them looking more resolved. "I joined a long time ago when I wasn't much older than you are now. Before the Dark Lord fell, I switched my allegiances, and since he has come back, I have been assisting the Order as a spy. Which is how I came across some information earlier this evening about your family." At his intake of breath Hermione nodded once to show she had processed his brief synopsis, and though she predictably had hundreds of questions, she managed to keep herself silent.

"The Dark Lord has commanded that you be apprehended, it is well known, in the walls of Hogwarts and beyond, that you are the brightest of your year, and is commonly felt that without you, Potter would be a lot easier to kill," he said impassively.

Hermione tried to swallow back a myriad of reactions; her teacher had complimented her, had casually referenced the relative ease of murdering Harry and her capture all in one sentence, and all without any apparent emotion attached to any of it.

"They have resolved that there will be an attack soon. I do not have more information. As the Dark Lord grows more paranoid, he tells fewer people the sum of his plans; it is likely that only those that will be directly involved will know the exact time and date." Hermione's mind ran over the terrifying prospect of a man like Walden MacNair being assigned to this mission. As she mused, Professor Snape turned himself in the chair to face her, glancing at her curiously. "You do not seem surprised," he began accusingly, "I had expected a great deal more adolescent histrionics."

Hermione bit down the desire to shout at the emotionless bastard that getting a little emotional in the face of the planned ruthless slaughter of your family was not exactly an overreaction. Instead, she considered her response.

"Since the Department of Mysteries I had expected that this might happen," she began softly, not quite meeting his eyes. "I have been making plans since the start of summer. I did expect I would have longer… but, I received another note of warning before yours this evening."

Professor Snape's eyes bulged almost comically; Hermione was sure she had even seen such a pronounced reaction from the man. "Who sent it?" he said finally.

"I don't know" she answered honestly.

He fixed his assessing gaze on her again and searched her face; Hermione did not feel the gentle nudge of Legilimency against her mind, though she wasn't sure she would have felt it, skilled as he was, she assumed he was searching for truth from her expression. After an impossibly long time, he appeared satisfied and nodded.

"Please hand me the note," he requested calmly, but there was an undercurrent of command in his tone that told her he would be difficult about it if she didn't comply. Reluctantly, Hermione removed it from her pocket and passed it to him for evaluation.

He sighed again but looked pensive, "A charm has been used to alter the handwriting, and something is masking the magical signature, I will need to think on this," he handed the note back to her. "You spoke of plans?"

Hermione explained. She had been drawing up a potential 'exit strategy' since term ended. She would be sending her parents to Australia, selling their dental practice, and notifying all of their friends and family of an amazing and immediate opportunity they would be taking, and not to worry if they didn't hear from them. She looked up to face him. "That's where I would need your assistance. I still have the trace, and I can't complete the required… the required memory charms," she finished, her voice threatening to crack.

Hermione thought she might have seen a flicker of pity flash across her professor's face, but it was gone before she could be sure. After a few moments of heavy silence, he consented and Hermione fought against asking all of the questions she had. Why was he helping her? Why warn her at all? None of that mattered, she would have accepted almost anyone's aid if it meant getting her parents away from danger.

Walking quietly down the stairs Hermione began removing every hint of herself from the kitchen, and then moved through the house, repeating the process in each room, managing, somehow, to hold it all together. After an hour she became numb, only aware she was crying because she could occasionally feel droplets falling from her cheeks, but she made no noise. By prior agreement Professor Snape had been doing the same upstairs, Hermione had been grateful for the offer, there were so many more personal things up there that she wasn't sure she could have managed to do it herself. Eventually he came down, his face still irritatingly impassive, as she was facing the mantel in the living room, stealing herself against the smiling faces staring back at her from under panes of glass.

The pictures were the worst.

Watching herself magically fading from her parent's existence made a thrust of pain appear in her stomach. She kept reminding herself why she was doing this; we are coming, as heart-breaking as this felt it would be so much worse to know that her parents could be tortured and killed by Death Eaters, Hermione would never forgive herself for that, not after she had been warned.

This pain was necessary.

The professor did not say anything as Hermione continued to work, he made no reference to her tears and didn't even offer so much as a tissue, though he did move to stand at her side, so close their shoulders were almost touching, and in a way she couldn't explain, whether by accident or design, it helped.

Hermione took a select few of the images she had saved for last, one of her parents on their wedding day, one of all three of them on holiday in Crete when Hermione was about five and one of her mum in her early twenties, from a few months before she got married. Her mother was sitting at a table on the outside of a cafe Hermione had walked passed a thousand times in London. Although the photograph was Muggle she could tell her mum's wavy hair would have been flowing in the breeze, she looked beautiful, with such a carefree expression. Her mouth accentuated by her dark pink lipstick and hair longer than she ever wore it now. Hermione pushed the pictures inside her coat and finished gathering up things, until finally, they were done.

She collected all of the relocation paperwork she had organised and left it in a neat stack on the kitchen table, just the way her father would have done, if he had done it himself, rather than just being made to think he had. It was near light now and wouldn't be long before her parents were up. Wordlessly the unlikely pair climbed the stairs in silence, they didn't need to speak anymore, she had told him all of the plans, he just needed to do it.

Hermione registered a level of anxiety in allowing Professor Snape to mess with their minds, but at the same time grateful, even without the trace she wasn't sure she could have lifted her wand to them. You would have done what was necessary, a little voice whispered, and Hermione closed her eyes, as if it would stop the truth from getting in.

She opened the door to her parents' bedroom and without making any noise breathed in the smell, taking a moment to look at their restful faces before lifting a shaking arm and pointing at her father first, forcing herself not to dwell on how the sombre action made her feel like the ominous spectre of Death. The Potions Master made a slight nod then raised his arm as hers fell, her fingers still splayed as if reaching for them.

"Obliviate."

Back in her room, Hermione made the final preparations to leave. Professor Snape extended an offer to side-along apparate her to the Burrow, another thing for her to be thankful to him for. In all her planning Hermione had never given much consideration to how she would get out of there, she hadn't seemed able to think past what would happen once she had wiped her parent's memories.

"Thank you," she murmured, as she dropped the last of her things into her trunk. Her voice sounded blank, and she couldn't seem to get any reaction from her facial muscles, her expression must have looked weirdly neutral, especially on someone that was typically so expressive. She hoped somehow that he could ascertain her sincerity in spite of all that. Whatever he detected from her it was clear that her professor was monumentally uncomfortable, how long had it been since someone had thanked him?

"Why?" she asked, the word tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. Hermione didn't want to ask, not really, her brain was mush, and she wasn't sure she could take in any more information, but in a few days, when she didn't feel like someone had removed her first two layers of skin, she would come back to herself, and she would want to know. This was her only chance of finding out.

"What?" he asked bemusedly.

"Why would you help me? I am assuming this wasn't on order from Dumbledore; you would have said something," she explained.

"No, not on orders from Dumbledore, he doesn't know about this and I would… appreciate you not saying anything. I find myself in the curious position of having done something that would anger both sides," he said, his tone as if he were musing aloud.

"Dumbledore would be unhappy that I was kept alive?" Hermione asked.

"Bloody Gryffindors," Professor Snape snapped, albeit in a subdued voice, given her parents were still sleeping in the next room. "Always the most obvious solution. No, not strictly, he would be… displeased that I risked my cover."

"I suppose with me gone, Harry would have fewer people to rely on, it might force him to be more dependent on those authority figures already in his life."

Professor Snape's face snapped to hers; he indicated he was slightly surprised by the words she had spoken but made no move to confirm or deny them. "You are ready to leave?" he intoned.

"You didn't answer my question," she tried, though on some level Hermione knew she wouldn't get any more from him that evening. As expected Professor Snape ignored her, instead of reply he lifted his arm to hers, and she sighed internally, she didn't have the strength to push him. Hermione indicated her things, and he magically shrunk them.

Professor Snape apparated them to the ward lines of the Burrow and placed her belongings on the ground. Before Hermione could say anything else, he turned to walk away. She was collecting her things, ready to push her way into Molly's kitchen when his voice softly drifted back to her on the breeze.

"Penance, I suppose."

Hermione instinctively spun back around, he was facing her, but his stare was fixed firmly above her head. "This was not the first time I have been in this type of situation; I came to see that back then I made the wrong choice, I put my trust in the wrong people. I took measures to save someone, and they got hurt anyway," his voice was barely above a whisper, but in the bright, crisp morning, she heard every word.

Hermione was suddenly struck by how odd this scene would look if anyone happened to peer out of a window. Two figures standing fifteen feet apart in a blooming meadow, highlighted by the dawning sun, talking about regret and prior hurt. It was like something out of a Regency drama, except it wasn't. She looked at the light illuminating the side of the professor's face. It was strange, every interaction she'd had with him before now had been in the dull shadows of the dungeons, a place Hermione had always considered to be his perfect environment, and yet, looking at him then it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Professor Snape looked younger, but more put upon, less caricature of imagined parts, more... real?

"The world around us is on the cusp of becoming very dark again Miss Granger," he began, meeting her eyes with an intensity that she had never seen him use without an accompanying scowl. "I thought it would be beneficial to my mental state to have a memory, a single remembrance of having done something good, something that was right."

Hermione tried to meet his eyes, something she never attempted in his classes. "Sir… I… Thank you, I won't tell anyone, ever, but just thank you."

She was almost sure she saw the beginnings of a strained smile on his face before, with a muted pop, he, and the only link she had to that evening, was gone.

A/N Fancasts: David Granger - Mark Ruffalo, Jean Granger - Emily Blunt and Severus Snape - Louis Garrell.