The Parisian sun was setting just over the hills beyond the window, casting a warm orange on the living room. They'd taken the rest of the afternoon to outline their plans and debate about what plan of action was wisest. It wasn't until Snape cracked his neck and stretched his back muscles that they'd noticed the sun had set.

"What do you say we catch dinner in the city tonight?" he asked.

Hermione glanced up, her honey eyes wide. "You mean…dinner in Paris?"

Snape suppressed the smile that erupted at her naïve excitement. "That is precisely what I mean."

Her face lit up momentarily, before her smile faltered. "Well…I mean, I'd love to, but I haven't exactly got loads of money on me. I should really write to my parents and—"

She was cut off by Snape's impolite snort. She cocked an eyebrow as he spoke. "Come now, Hermione, did you really think I'd allow you to pay?"

She furrowed her brow and set her jaw. "None of that chivalrous macho crap, I can certainly pay my own way."

Snape laughed, but shook his head. "Please, Hermione. Allow me to treat you. Just the once."

Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that he would most certainly not stop at paying once, but chose, for a brief moment, to simply allow it. "Well, all right. Thank you, Severus."

Snape nodded deeply and ignored the curious flutter in his stomach when she voiced his first name. "Well, then, I'll allow you to unpack and change into something less conspicuous. Remember, we're in hiding—it is vital that we blend in."

Hermione nodded and searched for her bag for a moment, frowning when she failed to locate it. Snape sauntered from the room but at the last moment, he muttered, "It's in your room—up the stairs, first door on your right."

She rolled her eyes and laughed to herself; that was entirely too characteristic of him. She collected herself and ascended the deep mahogany staircase. Lining the walls were countless framed photographs but none of them depicted smiling faces. Hermione got the distinct impression that this hadn't been a home filled with cheer.

Setting aside her sympathy for Snape for the moment—he did have a summer home, it couldn't have been all bad—Hermione gently turned the knob on what was apparently her room. She was astounded by the sight that met her.

If ever a room had been painted in gold, it was the one she was staring at. The moldings across the tops of the walls were carved and ornate like those mansions showcased in the tours her parents were constantly dragging her to. The floor was hidden by a plush, deep red carpet she immediately kicked her shoes off to bury her toes in it. Set in the far wall was a grand, brick fireplace which was already roaring. The bed was opposite it, draped in a pure white feather duvet with deep red pillows atop it. Encasing the bed was a luxurious mosquito netting. There was an adjoining bathroom, which itself was bigger than the entire Gryffindor girl's dormitory. Hermione decided she'd probably never been in a more lavish bedroom in her life.

Hermione shook her head to clear it; she'd rather not feel like a tourist in the house she'd be spending an indeterminable amount of time. Instead, she withdrew her wand and sent her clothing into their respective drawers. She deposited her toiletries into the marble-tiled bathroom and finally got to dressing for the evening.

There, she paused. How formal should she go? He'd told her to be inconspicuous, but that was as far as the instructions extended. Hermione shrugged and figured, since they were to dine in Paris, she may as well take advantage of an opportunity that may never come again. With that in mind, she withdrew her favorite little black dress which had gold thread weaved throughout to accent it. It reached the middle of her thighs, but it was the top of the dress she loved best. One shoulder was completely bare. The other sported a full length sleeve. She felt extravagant, even famous, whenever she wore it, and truly, what kind of girl doesn't like that?

She pulled on a pair of black high-heeled ankle boots and then sat at her vanity to apply a little makeup. She hardly ever wore any, but her mother had taught her how to apply it a few summers ago should she ever have the need to dress up a little. She'd have to remember to thank her for that.

Her skin was flawlessly clear—it was one of her best features, and even she had to admit it. So she forwent foundation and instead picked up a mascara wand. She roved it over the lashes of each eye a few times and then picked up the eyeliner. Next was the dark gold eye shadow, which she hoped pick up on the gold in her dress. And finally, she dabbed a clear lip gloss on her already full lips.

She tousled her light honey hair so that it was cascading in waves around her shoulders before rising and standing before the mirror. She appraised her look—saw how the makeup, as light as it was, truly highlighted her features. She saw how the dress clung to her butt just the right way.

Well, it was her favorite for a reason.

With an affirmative nod, she was ready and she shrugged into her warm, black peacoat and tucked her wand away before heading for the stairs. Snape was waiting for her patiently at the landing. He smiled when he heard her footsteps, but froze when he saw her coming towards him.

He was quite sure his jaw dropped like one of those preposterous American cartoons as he took in the tight, but classy, dress that clung to her beneath her coat. Her legs were surprisingly tanned and toned from where they poked out from beneath her attire. Her hair fell in waves and begged his fingers toward it, and her eyes were alight with a happiness he hadn't seen in months.

"You look absolutely…" he began, and then stopped himself, appalled at what he'd almost revealed. "Muggle," he finished unceremoniously.

Hermione crinkled her brow, because she could tell he'd just swallowed the real word he'd wanted to say. She just couldn't put her finger on what it was. "As do you," she said, her eyes roving over his crisp white button-down and his pressed black slacks.

Snape slipped into a Muggle sport's jacket before holding his arm out to her and smiling. "Shall we?" he asked.

She smiled and accepted his proffered arm. Together, they walked to the edge of the grass before turning to face each other. He withdrew his wand and for the second time in two hours, they spun and the world around them compressed and strangled the air from their lungs. When they landed in what proved to be a deserted alleyway, Snape gasped and clung to the wall to keep himself steady. He hadn't wholly healed from the state she'd found him in just last night and Hermione wondered briefly whether or not this was actually a good idea.

As if he could read her mind, Snape waved away her unvoiced thoughts. "I'm fine," he murmured predictably. "It's the stitches; they're quite uncomfortable."

Hermione rolled her eyes—she doubted very much that it was just the stitches—but held her tongue and followed him onto the streets of Paris. Nightlife here was in full swing. Lovers walked hand in hand, their heads bent toward each other. Classy French women dressed in black from head to toe took long drags off of the fags clutched in their fingers. Bits of French words flittered toward them from here and there and though she didn't understand a second of it, Hermione was delighted.

They ducked into a small place on a corner called Chez Maurice. Snape, in eloquent French that surprised Hermione although it shouldn't have, said to the Maitre d', "Bonsoir. J'aimerais un tableau pour deux, s'il vous plait."

The man nodded appreciatively at Snape's knowledge for the language as it was evident they were not natives, and led them to a both with dim, but appropriate, lighting. "Vos menus," the man said before departing.

Hermione glanced at the menu before panicking. She didn't know a word of French. She managed to work out that porc was pork and vin was wine, but fromage? Poisson? Agneau? What in the world?

Snape too one look at the despair written across her face and burst into laughter. "What can I help you with?"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Well, the whole menu, to start."

He laughed again and walked her through it. By the time the server arrived, Hermione was able to order her, "L'agneau avec un coté de legumes," or lamb with a side of vegetables, with very little trouble.

As the server thanked them and took their menus, Hermione folded her hands beneath her chin and studied the man across from her. "So when were you going to tell me your family is stinking rich?"

Snape laughed and raised his eyebrows. "I thought I'd let the house speak for itself. I take it everything is adequate?"

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Adequate? The bathroom is bigger than Gryffindor common room. And this is your second home? I can only imagine what your main home looked like?"

Snape smiled again, but this time it was a little grimmer than it was genuine. "It was certainly lavish, Hermione. But it was nothing but extravagance. I'd hardly call that a home."

Hermione frowned sympathetically. "I take it that it wasn't the happiest of places."

Snape shrugged. "Not many laughs echoed through those halls, that much is certain. My father saw to that. He had my mother wrapped around his finger and that woman, bless her heart, died trying to appease an unappeasable man. She devoted her life to an impossible task."

Hermione nodded. She'd never imagined what Snape's childhood had to have been like, but now that he painted the picture for her, she didn't like what she saw. "And you were an only child, then?"

Snape raised his eyes to meet hers, and Hermione caught a very deep, very real sorrow that disappeared as quickly as it appeared but was undeniably strong. "I am now, but I wasn't always."

Hermione swallowed. Hard. "What happened?"

Snape studied her, seeming to gauge how much to say. He sighed. "My sister, Victoria, was five years my junior and we were incredibly close growing up. My father was very keen on physical abuse as a form of discipline. Come to think of it, he liked it for persuasion, as well. Anyway, Victoria was his optimal target. He was a very sexist man and I was deemed safe because I was a man, like he. But, in his mind, Victoria was as worthless and abhorrent as my mother and should be treated as such."

Hermione gulped. "That's horrible. I'm sorry."

Snape nodded, but now seemed lost in his own story. "Society was so fooled by our wealth that they didn't see the bruises that always decorated my sister's arms, and often her face. A man with money, in those days, was a man with power and as such, a man without fault. They were wrong in that. My father was a man of innumerable faults." Snape's face darkened and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this.

"I tried my damndest to protect Victoria. She was a sweet girl, and brilliant, and her future was brighter than mine had ever been. But my protection did little to stem my father's brutality and one night, the belt he used on her won. He paid off an ME to say the cause of death was undetermined, but anyone with half a brain could see her purple skin showcased in that open casket."

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay, but Severus plowed on.

"It broke my mother's heart, and I'm sure it's what killed her almost exactly a year later. I was seventeen at that point and I was gone the day after her funeral. Last I heard, my father was shacked up with some Italian whore in Naples. His past doesn't bother him an inch; I'm sure he sleeps like a baby at night."

Hermione blinked away the tears that escaped for a family she didn't even know. "Severus, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

Snape glanced up and snapped back to reality. He smiled gently, benignly, but warmly. "It's in the past, Hermione. My sister is in a better place with my mother and I'm glad they no longer had to put up with my father's brutality. I've been around darkness all my life. It's what makes me a good spy. Despite how much I despise him, I owe my role in this war to my father. Without him, I'd never know how to mingle with scum."

He smiled at Hermione to let her know he was all right, and she considered what he'd said. It'd reminded her of the night's proceedings. "Severus, what happened at that meeting? You've not mentioned it since you've woken, and I think it's high time we talked about it."

He sighed, but nodded. "I was called to a meeting obviously, like I often am, but the air was different the instant I Apparated. It was a tension you could feel. And they'd waited for me to arrive." He raised his eyes. "Death Eaters don't wait for anybody."

Hermione nodded. "They discovered that you're a spy."

Snape nodded deeply.

Hermione frowned. "How?"

Snape shrugged. "I honestly don't know. It could've been anything; they could've planted a wire, had me followed, slipped someone a potion. Worst of all, it could be a weak link in the Order." Snape took a long sip from his wine. "We're trying incredibly hard to rule out that last one."

They paused their conversation as the waiter set down their meals. As soon as he walked away, Hermione said, "Regardless of how it happened, your alliance was revealed."

Snape nodded. "They were ready for me. In all honesty, I was unprepared. They ambushed me. And they spent the night teaching me a lesson."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "But then, they just let you go at the end?"

Snape shook his head. "I managed to get away—Lucius was using my own wand against me, and he turned his back when he thought I'd gone unconscious. I wrestled it from him and threw myself in the Floo."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Impressive."

Snape shrugged. "They'd been talking all night about their plans to invade the castle. They knew it would drive me crazy if I died knowing there was nothing I could do to save you—save the castle," he covered quickly.

Hermione suppressed a grin. "And now? Do you know what they'll do?"

Snape sighed. "Honestly? No. They'll track us, there's no doubt in that. But my home is fairly well guarded. I have hope for us."

Hermione smiled. "As do I."

They finished eating quickly and were out of the restaurant by eight o'clock. They Apparated back to the cottage from the same alley they Apparated into. Once they were in the front lawn, Hermione glanced up and was considering how bright the stairs were in the country sky just as Snape emitted a horrifying, guttural groan beside her.

Her head spun quickly, instinctively and she caught the last atrocious second of a figure in black wrestling Snape to the ground before a blindfold was slipped over her eyes and a punch was delivered to her gut. Her scream died in her throat as a knee collided with her temple and her world went hazy, and then black.

Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks to everyone who has already, they keep me going.