A/N: Reposting this chapter after an astute reader pointed out a rather significant error on my part. If you don't know what it was, then I'm sure not telling! :-) And please feel free to point out anything else that is blatantly wrong, now and in the future. I, of course, reserve the right to take some deliberate liberties with my story, but I don't want it to happen through carelessness!

Hermione stretched, the kind of satisfying, bone-popping stretch that only comes after a deliciously solid and lengthy night's sleep. I haven't had a true lie-in in ages. What a treat!

She wiggled her toes and pulled the covers up a little higher. A smile crept over her face as she luxuriated in the warmth and comfort of the large bed, eyes still shut against the late-morning sunlight filtering in through the window.

Wait, large bed? What window?

Her eyes flew open to see an unfamiliar room. The realization that she wasn't lying on her camp bed in the tent sent her scrambling for her wand even as she sat bolt upright in the bed. Her heart racing, she quickly took stock of her surroundings, including a set of rumpled and unfamiliar robes, and before the fog of disorientation had entirely dissipated, she remembered.

"Oh god …" she whispered as memories and images of the previous few days came back to her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she pulled her knees into her chest, and she raised a shaky hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

So much had happened since she arrived at Hogsmeade … what was it now, two – maybe three – days ago? She went into battle with friends, confident in the victory that would come to the Order, and she left the battle totally defeated, completely broken and absolutely alone in the world.

Except for Snape.

That thought made her tears flow a little bit faster. The only person left on her side was someone who, up until yesterday, she would gladly have cursed or killed as a Death Eater, a traitor, a murderer and one of the cruelest people she had ever met.

But now? Now she owed him a life debt and a lifetime of apologies. And even though Dumbledore's portrait had been convincing as to where Snape's loyalties lay, she still wasn't sure she trusted him completely. He may have been saved her life and ensured her immediate health and safety, but she was certain that had nothing to do with compassion and everything to do with buying her trust and, therefore, her help. He had basically said as much.

But what else could she do except ally herself with him? There was, quite literally, no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go. Then there was the centaur's prophecy. As much as she hated Divination as a student, she couldn't deny that certain prophecies had a way of influencing certain events. Even Trelawny, fraud that she was, managed to alter the course of history with a single prophecy about Voldemort. And look how that turned out, she thought bitterly. Now Hermione had her very own prophecy with which to define her future. Bloody centaur.

Her tears finally subsided, and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back as memories continued to wash over her. After a few more minutes, she stirred. Well, there's nothing for it but to get up and face whatever lies ahead. But first, the loo … and a toothbrush.

Wiping away the remains of her tears and the last of her potion-induced fog, she climbed out of the bed, a basic four-post that matched the wardrobe and bedside table. She had been so tired the night before that as soon as the potions (that bastard) hit her system, she did nothing more than fall into bed fully dressed without even a cursory look around. She hadn't even thought to pick up her beaded bag.

That thought quickened her steps. She'd never been much more than arm's reach from that bag since the day she had charmed it, not even when she was being tortured at Malfoy Manor. Its contents had been critical to their survival and their mission, and it was like an extension of her body at this point. Without it, she felt extremely anxious, naked even.

Quietly opening the door to the bedroom, she held her breath and listened. Not a sound could be heard, so she slipped into the hallway and made her way to the lounge to fetch her bag. But before she could reach the tea table where it sat, she stopped abruptly. There before her on the sofa lay a sleeping Severus Snape.

Of course. In a safe house built for one, where else would he sleep if I had the bedroom?

She hadn't noticed him at first because the back of the sofa had hidden him from view. Now, though, she saw that he was stretched out flat on his back with one bare foot propped on the arm of the sofa and the other tucked under the blanket that was tangled about his lower body. His shirt had ridden up a bit in the night, showing a hint of a pale stomach bisected by a trail of fine black hair. One hand dangled off the edge of the cushion, not far from the table where his wand lay. The other rested on his chest. Black hair, quite a bit longer than she remembered him wearing it in the past, lay like an ink spatter across the pillow.

But it was his face that she found most curious. In his slumber, his face was completely relaxed, leaving his lips slightly parted. The crease that seemed a permanent fixture between his brows was gone, as was his familiar scowl. He looked peaceful, younger somehow. Less forbidding. Almost approachable.

Careful, Hermione. Even rabid dogs look peaceful when they sleep. But they can still bite.

Shaking her head, she picked up her bag and made her way back to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, her hair was brushed back into a low braid, she was dressed in jeans and a simple blouse, and she felt and looked more like herself. It was time to face the day … and Severus Snape.

/

Severus woke with a start, wand instantly in hand and eyes quickly searching the room. It was a habit borne of years spent walking that razor-thin line between stealth and exposure. Seeing that everything was in order, he sagged back into the cushions and rubbed his eyes.

He hated sleeping draughts and Dreamless Sleep. They made him sleep far too soundly for his liking, and the loss of control felt extremely dangerous given his position as a double agent. It was the same reason he never drank to excess or slept more than a few hours at a time or a few inches from his wand. He simply couldn't afford to not have all his wits about him or be caught unaware.

But sometimes, even he needed the hours of uninterrupted, restorative sleep provided by a potion in order to recover from whatever ordeal he had recently survived. Knowing that he wouldn't be called again for a few days, that he was secure in an unplottable safe house and that he and Granger had arrived at a tentative truce gave him the peace of mind to take a sleeping draught, and already he could tell his body was thanking him. His mind felt more calm and his body much less fatigued, but he was still trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep.

He could hear sounds in the kitchen, so he knew Granger was awake. Casting a quick Tempus Charm, he saw that it was nearly noon. With a final stretch, he sat up and used his wand to stoke the fire, which had died down to embers over night. June days were still chilly in this part of Britain, and the fire did much to warm the room and improve his mood.

There was a great deal to be done, and if he was going to be faced with a know-it-all Gryffindor who would undoubtedly ask difficult questions, he wanted a shower first.

With a quick flick of his wand, he Summoned a change of clothes from the bedroom closet and walked to the bathroom, snatching them out of midair as he passed. If he recalled correctly, the safe house had at least 10 days' worth of clothing, wizarding and Muggle, hanging at the ready. It was all men's clothing, however, so he fervently hoped Granger had some spares of her own and they wouldn't have to share. He supposed they could always transfigure something, but that would be tedious … and noticeable to certain eyes trained to look for disguises and falsehoods.

Twenty minutes later, a freshly showered, freshly shaven and much more awake Severus walked into the kitchen, where Granger was putting the finishing touches on a simple hot breakfast. She turned from the cooker just as he walked through the door, and she nearly dropped the pan of eggs in her shock.

"Professor! You scared me! I didn't know you were awake."

"I am sorry, Miss Granger. I did not know I was required to announce it. If you were more aware of your surroundings, you would have heard the shower running. And stop staring at me. If you have something to say, say it."

She at least had the grace to look chagrined. "I just never thought I'd see you looking so … casual."

He sighed. "You forget, Miss Granger, that I am a Half-Blood. I grew up wearing Muggle clothing. What, did you think I wore teacher robes 24 hours a day?"

"Well, no. I never gave a thought to what you wore," she said with some irritation. "It's just … strange to see you in jeans and a button-down, that's all. It's like seeing Professor McGonagall pushing a trolley at Tesco. It's unexpected. Wait, is that plaid?"

He didn't bother to reply and instead walked over to the cupboards to begin searching for a cup so he could pour some of the coffee he smelled brewing.

"Professor, I was wondering if—"

"Stop right there. I refuse to answer questions until I have had coffee and at least a bit of breakfast."

"I was simply asking if you would like rashers with your eggs! Honestly!"

After a fleeting moment of shame for being so tetchy, Severus muttered a quiet "yes, thank you." And with that, they sat down to a silent and decidedly tense breakfast. Severus tried to ignore the curious and slightly wary glances that Granger sent his way every so often.

Finally, after the last bit of egg yolk had been sopped up with the last crust of toast, Severus set the dishes to magically washing themselves in the sink. Another flick of his wand and both coffee cups refilled themselves, earning him an appreciative nod from Granger. A final twitch and a scroll of parchment, a quill and an inkwell made their way from the lounge to the table.

"Now then, Miss Granger, I expect you have many questions. I myself have a few. However, I think we can answer many of those questions by taking an inventory of our resources. Agreed?"

Another nod from Granger and he stuck the parchment to the wall and spelled the quill to record automatically as needed.

"Let us begin with secure locations. Even Secret-Kept, unplottable locations can be compromised, so we need alternatives. There is, of course, this house."

The quill scratched out an entry in a column entitled Secure Locations.

He continued, "There is my home at Spinner's End. While not entirely secure, it is highly warded and very few have access to it. However, you will not go there unless absolutely necessary, and only then if I deem it safe. There is my office, and only my office, at Hogwarts, which seems to be secure for now. Of course, I can access the rest of Hogwarts – again, for now – but you cannot … or, at least, should not."

He paused for a moment, deep in thought, before asking, "What do you know of Grimmauld Place?"

She furrowed her brow. "I haven't been back since breaking into the Ministry a few summers ago. When we attempted to Apparate back to the house, we were followed, which is how we ended up in the forest. I assume it was discovered by Death Eaters at that time, so we never risked a visit after that. I know that, to be safe, the Order used other locations after that and eventually designated a new headquarters. But I'm just not certain where things stand."

"And I have not heard either way. I would imagine it would have been brought to the Dark Lord's attention had it been infiltrated. Then again, I am not privy to all of his knowledge. Alright. Grimmauld Place should be considered a refuge of last resort."

She nodded, then said, "There is always my family home. I know it's not a magical residence, but it could still prove useful in an emergency."

He paled slightly. Oh, Merlin. She doesn't know. He took a sip of coffee to buy some time before answering.

"Miss Granger, when was the last time you were there?"

"It's been three years, but I warded it in such a way that it wouldn't suffer from neglect. It should be fine. But truth to tell, I haven't been back since I Obliviated my parents and sent them away for safety."

"You what?"

"Well, I suspected they might become targets of your … well, you know. So I modified their memories. They suddenly decided they'd like nothing more than to move to … to another place," she said evasively, before dropping her head and her voice. "They no longer know I exist."

Severus was stunned. He knew the Dark Lord had been frustrated at his followers' inability to draw Granger out through her parents. They simply couldn't be found. But that didn't mean no one had tried. Certainly no one suspected Granger of being skilled enough, let alone emotionally strong enough, to irreversibly alter her own parents' memories and move them to safety. It was unreal, and for a moment he had no words.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "That was incredibly prescient of you. They were, in fact, high-level targets. The Dark Lord thought he could get to you, and thus Potter, through them, but when they didn't turn up after months of surveillance, he ordered the complete destruction of the home. It no longer stands."

Grangers jaw dropped in shock and her eyes filled with tears at the news. "It's all gone?" she whispered.

"Yes," he replied curtly. Then his eyes softened a touch. "Miss Granger, I truly regret being the one to bear this news."

He could tell that this was yet another blow that she was ill prepared to withstand, especially after recent events. Her shoulders started to shake as she put her hands over her face in anguish, yet aside from a few harsh breaths she made no sound.

In the awkward moments that followed, Severus looked anywhere but at the young woman in front of him. It was times like this that made him wish he had never heard the names Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort. He knew that, in spite of his eventual regret and a decided shift in loyalties, his role as a Death Eater spy required him to commit heinous acts that resulted in scenes like this all over Britain. He had even been present at some of those scenes, with blood on his hands and full knowledge of exactly what had transpired … yet unable to explain or beg forgiveness as he played the role of upstanding wizard. Those were the nights sleep never came.

/

Embarrassed that she was falling apart once again in front of Snape, Hermione struggled to tamp down her emotions. But it was difficult, knowing that the house, which had become her symbol, her hope, of normalcy and a life after war, no longer existed, at least not in the form she remembered. Are there even ruins to sift through? she wondered. What about the old family photos, Grandmother's china, that ridiculous cuckoo clock Mum absolutely hated and Dad refused to part with? Oh, Mum and Dad … they would be devastated to know their home is ruined. At least they haven't been discovered.

She sagged a bit in relief at that last thought. After a time, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and lifted her head to look at Snape. He was looking toward the far wall, obviously incredibly uncomfortable and even somewhat concerned. Wonders never cease.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be alright, eventually."

His eyes snapped back to hers, his face quickly returning to a neutral expression. "If you are certain …"

"I am."

"Very well. What else should we list under secure locations? What about that tent you've been using?"

Hermione let out a bitter-sounding laugh. "The tent. Well, it's something, at least. I, for one, would be happy to never spend another night in it, but it's roomy enough and provides basic shelter. However, it's seen better days, as you can imagine after nearly full-time use for the past three years."

"Security?"

"We used a matrix of protective charms – Salvio Hexia, Repello Muggletum, Protego Totalum, Cave Inimicum, Muffliato. And we moved often, sometimes every night. We managed."

"That will work, especially if I also contribute a few charms. I think we should add it to the list, then. Where is it?"

"Here, in my bag."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, your tiny, impractical, impenetrable and oh so mysterious beaded bag. I am curious to see what you have managed to fit in there. Undetectable Expansion Charm, I presume?"

Her eyes narrowed in response. She studied him for a moment, trying to determine whether she should share her most valuable assets with a man whom she still didn't know if she should trust completely. Her one consolation over the last few years had been that even if things went bad they would still have the bag, which meant that they could survive another day. Sharing it with him would change things.

But, if sharing resources meant they could possibly arrive at a plan to finish Voldemort, well then, sharing resources is what she would have to do. In for a penny, in for a pound, Hermione.

"Right in one. Alright, I'll empty it so you can see what I have, but there's more here than you can imagine."

One eyebrow shot up and he looked at her with skepticism. "Is that so?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ten minutes later, the entire kitchen and lounge were covered in an assortment of resized items: the folded-up tent with all of its supplies, her school trunk with her personal belongings, a stack of close to four dozen books, myriad potions, a broad selection of Muggle and magical first aid supplies, a jumble of clothing, a large crate of non-perishable food, a wizarding wireless, three battered but serviceable broomsticks, a potions kit with a nesting set of all-purpose cauldrons, a few cloaks, piles of parchment and quills, and two tired-looking knapsacks, which Hermione placed reverently on the table and caressed lightly with her fingers before heaving a big sigh.

"And that's the lot. Well, except for some trash and minor odds and ends. It's been a while since it was completely emptied."

She turned to see Snape poking through her possessions. With each item that she had removed from her bag, Snape had looked more and more surprised, with an eyebrow that seemingly couldn't stay put above his eye. He had walked among the items as they were revealed, sorting things and murmuring occasionally so the quill could record the inventory.

He now came to the books and sifted through the stack. "My my, Miss Granger. You do have quite a collection of interesting things. Your library, for example. Several of these books belong to Hogwarts' restricted section. Surely you recall they were not to be removed from that area except by staff? And these others, they must be long past due by now."

His comment and chiding tone immediately put her on the defensive. "You can't be serious! I needed them! I was going to return them all, I swear. I just never dreamed that, three years on, I'd still be on the run."

"Interesting choices, nonetheless. I will add these to the library here," he said, waving his wand toward several bookcases lining the wall near a set of French doors and watching as the books flew through the air and filed themselves neatly into several empty slots. "You should know, however, that Madame Pince has gone spare looking for the culprit who stole them. Several students received detention merely for looking guilty in her presence. How does that make you feel?"

"I refuse to be shamed over this," she replied with a huff. "If I hadn't had those books, we'd still be sitting at Grimmauld Place and going mad trying to decipher a few doodles in a children's book."

He moved on to the broomsticks, inspecting them for damage. Finding none, he levitated them along with the cloaks to a closet near the front door. Pausing near her potions kit, he held several items up, looked at them with disgust and vanished everything.

"Hey! Those were my things!"

"Those things were disasters waiting to happen. Every piece was hopelessly contaminated, and the cauldrons were worn nearly transparent. They were not designed for use over a campfire, you know. It is truly astounding that they have not melted or exploded before now. Besides, I have superior equipment in the lab here."

She just looked at him in shock, unable to verbalize the thoughts jumbled in her head. Anyone else would be congratulating me on making the best of a bad situation and managing where others would have surely failed, and he's berating me for failing to follow basic lab procedures!

Before she could gather her wits to say those very things, he had already moved on and was carefully inspecting the potions. No surprise, really; they were, after all, his area of expertise, and apparently he had made many of them, if what he said about helping her and the boys was true. He picked up a vial, uncorked it and sniffed before making a face and setting it aside with several others.

"Did you learn nothing in my class, Miss Granger?"

"What? Of course I did," came her indignant reply. "I'll have you know that if you hadn't been so biased toward Slytherin, I would have had the highest grade in your class every single year.

"Then why have you been holding on to expired potions? This one, in particular, has gone off and would have caused extreme intestinal distress had you ingested it. Several others, while not exactly dangerous, are so old as to no longer be effective. You would have been better off treating yourself with water."

"Well, I'm sorry, Exalted Potions Master," she retorted in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not all of us have access to complete potions laboratories and fully stocked supply closets. And it's not as though I could place an owl order to replenish our stock of potions or ingredients. Our mysterious care packages didn't always have what we needed, either, I'll have you know, so I had to make do, which I did quite well. Besides, I figured an expired potion was better than no potion, given the circumstances!"

"Consider yourself lucky, then, that you have me now," he replied with a smirk, just before banishing the entire lot and ignoring her gasp of shock. "You should also feel lucky you did not end up pregnant." Giving her a disdainful once over, he continued, "On second thought, perhaps you should check."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what, exactly, are you insinuating?"

"Your supply of contraceptive potion is long since expired, yet it is clear you have been using it. So, who was it? Weasley or Potter?" Then with a wicked smirk, he added, "Or both, perhaps?"

Her anger bubbled up hot and fast, erupting in a shriek of rage. "It is none of your damn business, Snape! I refuse to discuss my personal life and reproductive health, and I absolutely will not talk about Harry and Ron with you!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," he said with a low chuckle, only to be met with splutters of incoherent rage. "Oh come now, Granger, stop acting the prude. It is only sex."

She swiped angry tears from her eyes before spitting out, "Stop it! You have no right to speak to me that way! No right! But then why should I have expected anything more from you? You've always been a complete arse, and I suppose you always will be."

She could feel herself losing control of her emotions. Outside of family, Harry and Ron were the two people she loved the most. While their relationships had been mostly platonic, there were times when the stress of war and life on the run was just too much. The occasional lovemaking had been their only means of comfort and outlet for difficult emotions. There was no way she would allow Snape to turn that into something tawdry, not now when her grief from their deaths was so fresh and raw.

Turning toward her trunk with a shaky breath, she shrank it and dropped it into her pocket. "You can deal with this mess for now. I'm going to the bedroom to unpack my trunk. Come find me when you can behave like a civilized wizard instead of a … a …"

"A what? A Death Eater, Granger? A greasy git? The bat of the dungeons? Take your pick; it does not matter to me. Really, I thought you knew me."

"Unfortunately, I do, but I had hoped, based on your behavior over the past 24 hours, that perhaps you had found your moral center during a time of extreme crisis. Oh, how wrong I was!"

And with that, she turned to leave the room. "Pregnant, indeed. I can't believe that stupid centaur thought we could work together," she muttered under her breath.

Suddenly, a pale hand grabbed her upper arm and spun her around. She found her self face-to-face with an infuriated looking Severus Snape.

"What centaur, Granger?" he uttered in a low, menacing voice.

Oh shite. I must have said that out loud.

"Have you had a run-in with a centaur? When?"

When she didn't reply, he continued. "I find it curious that you would not have mentioned such an important thing to me before now. As you know, Granger, centaurs are not exactly known for indulging in idle chitchat. Now, you will tell me what he said."

Hermione had not intended on sharing that particular bit of information just yet. She wasn't sure why, but she thought it better to keep that incident confidential, for now anyway. She raised her chin defiantly. "I don't know what you're on about."

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"Last chance, Granger," he said with a warning in his voice.

She said nothing. Surely he wouldn't stoop so low as to—

"Have it your way. Legilimens!"

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please don't make me beg for reviews. It's unseemly.