As promised, they're coming fast! Enjoy the chapter! And don't forget to review when you're done, I love hearing from you all ; )

SS

Despite the fact that Slughorn had been my own potions teacher, and while he was batty and woefully inept at maintaining boundaries with his students he was obviously a decent professor, I felt no qualms about informing him that Miss Granger was to be one of the students I tutored myself. The arrogant old biddy had chaffed at the thought that the famous Hermione Granger wouldn't be under his private tutelage, but deferred to my authority as Headmaster. I didn't leave him much choice in the matter. Because a week after seeing into her mind, I was irritable, short tempered and in a constantly foul mood from wanting to know just what had happened to the insufferable Miss Granger. I wanted the matter to be done and over with. She was a bright witch. She had probably healed long ago from the emotional damage of the attack. Put it behind her and made a full recovery. It was probably a distant memory for her and it had merely been my bad luck to slam into it. But deep down, I knew that if she'd put it firmly behind her, the memory wouldn't have been so sharp, so painful. So I counted down the days until she would be closed into my office and could not escape my questions.

When the day finally arrived, I paced the floor behind my desk, waiting. I checked the time once, twice, a third time. I snarled into the empty room at her tardiness. Would she skip her tutoring session? Was she really that much of a coward that she wouldn't face me?

The door clicked open and I stopped my pacing instantly. I stilled, drew myself up to my full height, and put on my most stony expression. I refused to let her know that I'd given her even a second thought. She kept her head down as she entered, fussing with her bag and then staring at her toes as if they would give her the answers to her potions NEWTS. I waited. Silently. I expected more from the brains of the Golden bloody Trio than for her to hide her face and demure.

As if she sensed this, her head slowly rose. Her eyes met mine, whiskey brown to blackish green. She took a deep breath and practically sparked defiance at me. Ah, there it was. There was the spirit I was expecting to have pulled her through. There was the insufferable know it all I'd come to know. Gone was the trembling child who'd suffered untold horrors. Standing before me was the powerful, brilliant woman who'd faced the Dark Lord and prevailed. I was counting on that strength. Because if I saw her as that terrified child, I feared my icy mask would fall. My indifference would crack. And I refused to show weakness. To show I cared any more than a sane, uninvolved adult might. To show that I was not any more interested in her well being than a stranger would be.

Because the truth was too much for me to bear anyone knowing. That somehow, over the years, I'd developed a fondness for the woman. For the trio. For the students who'd worked with the Order in the thick of battle. Of course, I despised them all. But I despise everyone. I sneered at their accomplishments, ridiculed their success, and secretly felt a sliver of pride. I detested them slightly less than everyone else. That was more like it. And since she was one of those who I had some small spark of tolerance for, I could not seem to rest until I knew that she was alright. But I would never show her that.

"Severus," she greeted clearly with a very slight inclination of her head. My lip curled into a familiar sneer.

"Headmaster Snape," I hissed at her. "You will address me respectfully, or not at all, Miss Granger." I felt an instant stab of anger at myself that I'd already snapped at her, but smothered it. Familiarity was a dangerous precedent to set. It was best that we maintained the distance appropriate to both our stations.

"Then I shall refrain from addressing you at all," she said confidently. "If you will be so kind as to inform Professor Slughorn that you will be transferring my tutoring to him-"

"You will not be studying under Slughorn," I interrupted her. Her eyes widened in surprise. "If you cannot learn to curb your insolence, I will find other...ramifications." I heard her sharp intake of breath and smiled to myself. Fear had always been my ally. I could always count on it to control and teach.

Then a cold wave washed through me as I thought about what fears her mind had likely jumped to. Fuck it all. I'd never touched the girl. That had bloody well not have been what she'd thought of. I needed to learn that she was perfectly healthy of body and mind and put the images I'd seen out of my head. Already they were clouding my judgment and making me second guess myself. Was I supposed to walk on eggshells around her because of what I knew? I'd been teaching her for six years and had never felt guilt about instilling shame or fear in her. I wanted that indifference back.

"Will you be deducting house points? Assigning me detentions? Threatening to let Filtch hang me up by my thumbs? Because I assure you, I will not abide any of those things."

"So much fire, Miss Granger. Surely you realize that you are disrespecting not only a professor who controls the future of your NEWTS, but the headmaster of your school? Do you really care so little for your academic future?"

"You won't fail me simply because I refuse to use your title."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" Though outrage sang in my veins at her blatant disrespect, I managed to keep my voice steady and low, my trademark drawl that signaled more danger than any snarl could.

"You cannot pretend to be the heartless bastard any more, Severus." She lifted her chin to me and stared unblinking into my eyes. "I know better. You are cold and coarse and demanding, but you aren't cruel."

"Then what, pray tell," I managed in my most menacing whisper, "has driven you to treat me so insolently?" Her reaction was exactly as I'd imagined it would be. Her cheeks heated, her head bowed. She twisted her hands in her lap.

"You shouldn't go around pushing into other people's minds!"

"You should learn better than to step between a wizard's wand and his victim," I returned.

"Memories are private!" Her twisting hands trembled and her cheeks went from a pink blush to a red flush of shame.

"Ah, and on the subject of memories, Miss Granger," I drawled, going in for the kill. She sucked in a breath and refused to meet my eyes.

"That's none of your business."

"I have yet to ask a question."

"I don't care what you're going to ask. Its none of your business. Stay out of my head."

"If only it were so simple. You see, you brought this upon yourself when you so foolishly stepped in front of my wand. You, Miss Granger, put me into your memories and must now deal with the consequences."

"What do you want?" she whispered. I swallowed thickly and pushed ahead. I kept my voice clipped and cold.

"How old were you in that memory?" I waited while she took two breaths and looked at the wall.

"Eight."

My stomach heaved again and I clenched my jaw together, my iron will the only thing keeping me from exploding in rage. I inhaled slowly before I spoke again to make sure my voice held no emotion.

"It had happened before?" We both knew the answer, but she answered anyways, not bothering to elaborate.

"Yes."

"And after?" I held my breath silently.

"Y-yes." That one small crack in her voice was almost my undoing. I said nothing for endless moments as that word stretched between us.

"May I assume," I gritted out, "that it ended when you turned eleven and received your wand?" I expected another quick affirmative. There wasn't a single chance in Gryffendor's Golgotha that Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age, had allowed-

She sniffed, not a sharp intake of breath to indicate disdain for my question. A sniffle that foretold tears. My head jerked to look at her, shock breaking my carefully constructed facade of indifference. Her eyes met mine and saw the revulsion there.

"I- I-" she stopped, dropped her gaze, and suppressed a sob. Then she started to rise, obviously seeking to flee my office.

"Sit down, Miss Granger!" I hissed the words so forcefully at her that she obeyed instantly. "You allowed this to continue? For how long?" Her eyes widened and one small spark of her fire returned.

"You miserable bastard! Allowed? Allowed?" She glared at me, her look so filled with hate that even my black soul quelled. I realized that my wording of the question had been atrocious. It insinuated that she'd let the attacks occur, and I'd seen clearly that she had fought, even knowing that it would do her no good. But why hadn't she turned her wand on the sick fuck who'd done that to her? There were any number of hexes or curses that would have stopped him. No one would have blamed her for defending herself from such a monster.

"I apologize. That...that was not the right way to pose my question. How long did this continue?"

"It is none of your business," she whispered defiantly. I blinked in surprise. Why wouldn't she answer? Maybe because you made it sound as if at eleven, it was her fault the attacks continued. What does she think your reaction will be if she admits they didn't stop until she was twelve? Thirteen? Fifteen? I hated myself in that moment, for my thoughtless words that led her to think that I was judging her. That I had any right to question her desire to fight her attacker. I tried another tack.

"Who was he?" This question pounded in my veins, the burning desire to know who would dare treat her in such a manner. Who would be vile enough to touch a child that way. And what had been done to him in recompense.

"It isn't any of your concern, headmaster Snape," she snapped. Why didn't she want to tell me? Why would she hide his identity? A thought occurred to me.

"I assure you, if you have dispatched of the slime, I will neither harbor you any ill will nor feel it necessary to inform the Aurors. In this case, your judgment had every right to assign the penalty." I meant very word as I spoke them. If she'd gutted the bastard it would have been too good for him. If her fear in revealing the man's name was discovery of his death, it certainly would not come from me. Her lips parted and she inhaled a quick breath.

"I am not a murderer!" She sounded so outraged, so shocked that I might think such a thing. Did she not harbor any thoughts of revenge? Of justice?

"Murder, Miss Granger? Who said anything about murder?"

"You...you intimated that I had killed a man."

"I intimated that you had killed a monster," I replied coldly. "Do you really think that ridding the world of a man who would do something so reprehensible as rape a child constitutes murder?" I shook my head at her with a bitter twist of my lips. "If so, then we have a vast difference of opinion, Miss Granger. You see, I would consider the disposal of such garbage as a service to society." She simply stared at me for long moments. I could not believe that she found this so difficult to grasp. If she hadn't killed him, then what was her reason for not admitting who he was? And why did she seem so shocked at the thought of killing him?

"Not all matters are so black and white," she finally murmured. I fought my gasp. Not so black and white? What grey area was there that a pedophile rapist deserved death? What mitigating circumstances could justify such an atrocity?

"I beg to differ. The reasons, the circumstances, the excuses, do not matter. Death is the only just comeuppance for such an act. Unless you merely tortured him to insanity...?" She paled. "I thought not. Your Gryffindor heart is too soft for such retribution."

"I will state again, that this is none of your business. Who he is, and what happens to him, is none of your business." She was emanating waves of shame as heat would from a furnace. There was more to this than she was saying. What was she hiding?

"That is where you are wrong. You see, you are a student under my care. Someone in your life is a violent pedophile. Making sure that man isn't harming any other children is not only my job, but my moral obligation. I would be remiss in my duties as a teacher, and more-so as headmaster of this school, if I allowed him the opportunity to violate another child. People like him do not stop with just one."

"He isn't a danger to anyone else," she whispered.

"What makes you so sure?" I demanded. Why was she fighting me so hard on this? What was she hiding? My eyes narrowed and my wand whipped out faster than she could lift her head. I pushed into her mind, searching-

Fear

Darkness

Guilt

Footsteps on the wood floor, the door pushing open, tremors wracking her body-

"Stop!" Hermione slammed her mind closed to me. The force of it actually stung, my magic repulsed back from her shields. The girl hadn't been lying when she told Potter she was an accomplished Occlumens. Since the deaths of Voldermort and Dumbledore, I was not being arrogant to say that my legilimency powers are unrivaled in the wizarding world. To be able to eject me from her mind so forcefully was a tribute to her strength in the skill. I pushed back against her mind again, probing for weakness in her defenses. "Get out of my head!" She clutched her head in her hands and moaned, but her shields never wavered. I could feel light impressions, shame and horror and gut wrenching fear, but I couldn't see any thoughts or memories.

Tears fell from her lashes and I drew back, guilt assailing me. She was obviously traumatized, riddled with insecurities and doubts, and I was barraging her mind with all the delicacy of a battering ram. To her, it probably felt like just as much a violation as a physical assault. I pulled back immediately. Her sigh of relief was audible, her hands relaxing but staying pressed to her head.

"Leave me alone," she whispered desperately. I looked down at the miserable woman before me. How could this be the same woman that had defied me at every turn, that had played a key part in the destruction of the most evil wizard of all time? She had always seemed so cool and collected, so in control... But then, hadn't I been known for his steely demeanor when I was in school? And hadn't I used that stoicism to hide a multitude of horrors in the service of the Dark Lord?

"Have you ever told anyone about this...assault?"

"No." She wiped her tears away swiftly, as if realizing how foolish such displays were. She was nothing if not practical, after all.

"Not a parent, a counselor? A muggle police officer?"

"No."

"Not your friends?"

"I said no! And I never will!"

"Why?" I hated how soft the word sounded on my tongue. I wanted it to bite, to demand. I didn't want it to seem like an entreaty. I did not entreat. But she ignored my tone.

"Why?" Her head raised and her eyes flashed. "To avoid this! Why would I possibly want to relive this? To burden my friends with this knowledge? To have to explain, to admit..."

"Have you at least seen a medical professional? Even one of your fumbling muggle doctors?" Ah there was the demanding tone. There was the outrage. Surely she hadn't been so stupid as to assume that there wasn't a chance of lasting physical damage or disease.

"I have run diagnostic spells on myself-"

"Answer my question directly, Miss Granger!"

"No!"

"Why not?" Ice ran through my veins. How could she be so stupid? So reckless with her own life?

"I couldn't very well seek medical attention without explaining what happened!"

"And you were willing to gamble your life to maintain your silence?" I knew that I was being a bastard of the worst sort. She was a victim of a terrible crime, and I was pushing her, badgering her, practically insulting her. But my outrage knew no bounds. We both knew that I am not a kind or generous man. My tactics weren't designed to protect her feelings or sensibilities. They were to get results.

"I doubt there has been any life threatening damage done."

"Doubt? Or know?"

She fell silent, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Of course there wasn't any way for her to know for sure. Only a trained witch or wizard would be able to tell her for certain. And no matter what she'd read in her books, what spells she'd mastered in theory, there wasn't any way for her to identify or treat the damage that might have been inflicted. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes, fighting for control. I needed to get her out of my office. I needed to clear my mind, to block out her pain and suffering. It was clouding my thinking, interfering with my ability to remain impartial- whatever was left of it.

I walked stiffly to my desk again and wrote out the name of the first potion she would need to complete for her studies. When I held it out to her, she did not look up or take the parchment. Anger snapping, I dropped my hand down on her shoulder to get her attention.

She flinched away from me.

My stomach again heaved as I immediately released her. The parchment fell from my fingers and flitted into her lap. Though her face was carefully composed, I could still see the trace of fear behind her eyes. I thought back to all the years that I'd known her. Surely she hadn't always flinched away from a man's touch? Potter and Weasley had certainly embraced her enough. But from a man older than her? No, I couldn't recall a single instance that a professor, or even the headmaster had ever laid a hand on her in such a manner. She'd always been just out of range for friendly contact. It had never occurred to me that this was why.

"I expect that potion brewed and on my desk by tomorrow at sundown." My voice was rough and stark, but I knew there was nothing I could do to change that. I felt as if I had been raked over the coals, but I knew it had to be nothing compared to what Miss Granger felt like. I was going to let her escape now and lick her wounds. Repair her pride. Regain her dignity. But first... "And I expect you to have undergone a physical examination by a trained healer as well."

Her head snapped up, her mouth open in a gasp. Horror filled her face.

"I- no!"

"This is not up for discussion, Miss Granger. Good night." I sat heavily into my chair and studied the parchments before me. She stood, breath coming in quick bursts.

"You cannot make me!" There was such panic in her voice that I almost relented. Almost.

"Apparently you aren't aware, with all that insufferable knowledge in your head, that I am required by law to report a crime such as this to the Aurors, who would in turn question you, your family, and your friends. Then they would send you to St Mungos for examination and detection of evidence. You have gotten a taste already, I believe, of what happens when a person as famous as yourself is admitted to St Mungos, even for a trivial matter. I shudder to think what the media would do with such knowledge as this." It wasn't the whole truth, but I was going to use whatever means at my disposal to get her checked. I felt no guilt for changing certain small facts about my legal responsibility in the matter.

"You...you wouldn't," she whispered, her pain so clearly evident that I could not meet her eyes. "You can't. You can't! Headmaster, Professor, Severus..." Her eyes again filled with tears and they fell unrestrained down her cheeks. "Please. Please. Don't. I beg you. Please don't-"

"Cease this at once," I hissed. Her tears were twisting my heart, tearing away my composure. Hearing her beg me for mercy...it made my entire body shudder with disgust. I let her silence herself and then spoke again, my tone moderated once more. "I am giving you an out, Miss Granger. If you get the examination, and I can know from another authority than your dubious knowledge of medicine that your life isn't in any danger from damage or disease, then I will refrain from fulfilling my obligation. This will remain between us." She took a deep breath, I assumed to begin thanking me for the reprieve, but I stopped her with a raised hand. "But only if you get the exam. If you cannot be responsible enough to care for yourself, I will do it for you. By force or coercion if I must."

"I...I can't face anyone knowing," she whispered.

"One person, or the world, Miss Granger. I care not. The choice is yours, but you will be getting the exam one way or another." I knew my words were cold, my methods heartless, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The thought that she might be wasting away inside, rotting from some disease forced upon her- or worse, permanently damaged beyond repair- wasn't a chance I was willing to take, even to spare her the humiliation. I meant what I said.

"One person already does know. I...I can't tell anyone else." She shuddered. "You don't understand. Telling someone, explaining what happened, going through this again- I don't think I can do it."

I sighed, knowing the terror she was facing and hating myself for thrusting this upon her. But I could not back down. I fixed her with a cold stare.

"Would you rather tell your story, however painful it may be, to Madam Pomfrey, or would you rather have me do the blasted exam?" I snorted. Let her see how much worse things there were than having to tell her story again, and then buck up the courage. Her face paled, then her brows drew together.

"You are a trained healer?"

"Don't be stupid, Miss Granger. I've been a spy for longer than you've been alive, and a Potions Master since before you could walk. Of course I am a trained healer." I rolled my eyes. How could a clearly bright woman be so daft?

"Then you do it," she rushed. I flinched back. Blinked. Blinked again.

"Excuse me?"

"If that will placate you, and keep you from reporting this, then you do the exam. That way I won't have to tell-"

"You flinched away from a simple touch of my hand on your fucking shoulder," I snarled. "And yet you think you can submit to an exam from me?"

"I...I didn't mean to flinch. I wasn't thinking. I...trust you." She wove her fingers together and stared at them again. Then she glanced up at me. I have no doubt that my consternation showed on my face. She trusted me? Me? I'd just spent the last hour berating her, yelling at her, forcing her to reveal things she did not wish to reveal. Why could she possibly want me to be the one to...

"I assume you have never had such an examination before, Miss Granger. You should find out what they entail before you decide you would like me to be the one to preform it." I looked back down to my papers dismissively. There was no way she could still want me to be the one once she knew what all was involved in it. She would read one of her precious books, quail at the thought of her dreaded potions professor, the greasy git from the dungeons, the Slytherin bat, doing such a thing to her, and would go straight to Poppy.

"I might not have ever been through one myself, but I do know what goes on in such an exam," she said stiffly. My head came up once again in surprise.

"Then what would make you think that you could withstand that type of examination from someone such as me?" My sneer was met with a raise of her chin.

"One such as you? Someone who has spent nearly a decade protecting me and my friends, even to his own detriment? I trust that a man who thinks that one who would abuse a child deserves no better than death, would not take liberties or in any way be inappropriate during a medical exam. Especially, as you have pointed out, since I am still your student." She sounded so confident. So certain of me. For once, it was actually...nice. Over the years I had been accused of so many things. Had so many atrocities credited to my name. Now, having her voice her trust that I would never do something untoward to her- especially after what she'd been through- was a precious gift.

But it was one I couldn't accept blindly. Words were one thing. But I didn't think I would ever get the image of her cringing away from my simple touch on her shoulder out of my mind. With a sigh, I stood and went around to the front of the desk.

"Stand up, Miss Granger." I stoke softly, with no malice or scorn. It wasn't gentle or tender, but neither was it scathing. I was simply tired. Tired for her as well as myself. She looked up at me and then complied, a small wrinkle of worry marring her brow. When I stepped closer to her, she drew in a quick breath and braced herself. "I am not conducting the examination now, woman, so stop fretting." She instantly relaxed. I stepped closer again, so that we were mere inches apart. Her heart rate began to raise, her breath coming in shallow bursts. I lifted my hands and held them so that they were only just not touching her arms. She stood, frozen, waiting. "I can assume, from what I have seen and what you have said, and haven't said, that the one who did this to you was someone close to you. An older man, perhaps close to my own age. Someone you trusted. Or should have been able to trust. Someone who's job it was to protect you. Like it has been my job to protect you." My breath must have been whispering across her face as I spoke, and she closed her eyes as she absorbed the impact of what I was saying. Slowly, I let my hands close the scant inches until they were resting on her arms. Touching her. If I had tightened my fingers I could have held her still and prevented her from escape. I deliberately left my fingers loose, but let the possibility hang there, between us.

If she couldn't bear to have me touch her like this, then she couldn't bear to have me examining her in her most sensitive of places. She bore my touch without moving, without hardly breathing. Her eyes opened finally and she looked at me as if seeing into my very soul.

"Have you ever raped a woman?" Her soft question made my breath catch. I stared back at her, unflinching although all I wanted to do was hide from her penetrating gaze. How had this turned around on me? How was I now the one baring my worst nightmares?

"I have done many unforgivable things in the service of the Dark Lord." It was a non-answer, and she was too smart not to know that.

"Do you think you deserve to die for the things you were forced to do?" Her question was one I'd considered so many times that I did not need to think about the answer. I knew it already.

"Yes." I said flatly. The truth, plain and simple. A truth I believed with all my black heart.

"If you had been given the choice, would you have done any of those things willingly?" This time, her question brought anger surging through my blood.

"You have never been forced to do something you find so vile that your stomach churns at the very memory and you wish you could simply die to escape the guilt, or else you would not ask such a question."

"Wouldn't I?" She said it so quietly, so slowly, almost so that I couldn't hear her. Her eyes still searched mine, searing me, laying me bare. "I think you are perhaps more like me than the man who did this to me. You may be one of the few people in the world that understands. The guilt. The shame. The horror." She lifted her hand to where my own was covering her arm. Her soft fingertips brushed the index finger on my right hand. "I think that you have more honor in this one finger, than he has in his entire being. Which is why, despite any similarities you try and make me see between the two of you, I can trust you to do this."

My hands fell away. She turned, clutching her parchment in her hand, and left my office. I stared after her, speechless. Dumbstruck. Where had the weeping, begging mess of a child in my office only moments before gone? Who was this wise, poised woman who had taken her place? She was such a mass of contradictions. A jumble of terror and guilt twisted with shame and fear and all her worst nightmares. And yet she could see right into my soul and not let my outer shell, the pieces that make up my physical being, stop her from knowing who I was inside. How could the witch who sobbingly begged me to keep her secret be the same witch who braved not only my touch, but the horrors of my past?

I stayed, frozen there, for long after she'd gone. Staring at my hand where she'd stroked my finger. It was ridiculous, of course. I had no honor. None. The idea that any man could have less honor in their entire being than I had in that one finger was asinine. So why couldn't I stop staring at that one finger, feeling that those honey brown eyes of hers were the first to ever truly see me?