Three thin vials sat on the edge of her desk.

Hermione sighed and adjusted the pillows behind her back, feeling too tired to have the mental battle with herself again. She had work to do, research to complete, plans to make. She had to prepare, because that's what was expected of her. If she didn't prepare, then everything would fall apart and they would know about her failures.

But she was forever distracted by the diminishing bottles on her desk.

There were thirty-two when she first came home. She placed them in precise lines: fourteen morning and fourteen night, a tangy orange liquid encased in amber glass. Another four in stout transparent bottles. Those four she hated the most, the familiar handwritten labels mocking her. For pain relief.

If she were to dig through her drawers she would find a similar set of instructions from Madam Pomfrey dated exactly one year ago. A healthy diet, gentle exercise. Take the potions every twelve hours. The early days of summer felt like bad deja vu, only now the stakes were higher, the pain more intense. There were certain potions missing this time around, and an unspoken understanding hanging heavy in the air as Pomfrey handed over the kit.

The explanation she did receive, however, felt like a death sentence. Stores were running low, and she could only be supplied enough for two weeks at home. After that, her care would be transferred to Molly Weasley, who was adept at potions, though lacked the skill of a Potions Master. She would brew the medicines Hermione needed to repair the damage done to her organs, but at a cost. Mrs Weasley didn't have the knowledge to give the potions the long shelf-life required, and therefore would need to be brewed every few days.

In order to recover, Hermione would return to the Burrow indefinitely, leaving her parents exposed and unprotected.

Three vials were all that separated Hermione from the inevitable. One and a half days, to be precise. She knew it was irrational to be angry at inanimate objects, and yet here she was, beyond furious at the amber coloured bottles as though they were the sole cause for her suffering.

Hermione dragged her gaze off the offending objects, bringing her attention to the heavy book in her lap.

Moments in Memories.

A parting gift, she had teased him.

She realised he had to have known what was about to transpire. Plans had probably been in motion for sometime. And still he upheld his end of the bargain.

She had read the book from cover to cover, as he would have expected her to. Always the diligent little student, striving for that extra credit. Only this time, the extra credit would be the erasure of herself from the memories of her parents. One little word and a few flicks of her wand and it would all be over. It was far too simple.

The text was new and unmarked. She wouldn't have believed it was his, if it weren't for his name inscribed in the back like every other book he had leant her over the past year.

This Book is the Property of Severus Snape.

There was a small sheaf of parchment tucked into the spine, one she had overlooked on her first pass through of the text. It was only after she had returned home that the note had fallen from its safe space, fluttering down onto the cream coloured carpet.

You can, because you must.

Her wounds were so fresh that her first instinct was to burn the parchment or vanish it into the space in-between past and present. She wasn't sure then what made her fold it up into a neat little square, tucking it into place inside her beloved copy of Hogwarts: A History.

There was a knock and she slammed the book shut. 'Come in.'

Her mother's warm face appeared at the door, a tray of tea and biscuits balanced on one hip. Hermione inhaled deeply, committing the smell of her favourite freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to memory.

'I thought you could use an afternoon pick me up,' her mum commented lightly, placing the tray on the bedside table. Her eyes tracked Hermione's movement as she made to shove the book under her duvet. 'That's new. I don't think I've seen you read anything other than that little blue book. The potions one.'

'It's just some research I've been working on. Nothing interesting,' Hermione told her before taking a bite out of a biscuit. The chocolate was still warm and she gave a soft moan of delight. 'These are heavenly. No one will ever make biscuits like you do.'

Her mother laughed. 'Yes, well baking is the only thing I excel at. Aside from dentistry… though your father will never let me forget his scores were higher.' Her fingers brushed the lump under the duvet. 'This research… you know you can use me as a sounding board, if that helps.'

Hermione shoved the rest of the biscuit in her mouth, making her mother snort.

'Very mature, Hermione.'

Hermione made a face around the biscuit, hoping her mum would drop it. When she didn't, she swallowed it down with a sip of tea. 'It's not that kind of research. Not really.'

Her mum sucked in a breath as though she were about to say something, but shook her head, nibbling on the edge of a biscuit instead. Hermione fidgeted with the seam of her duvet, pulling at a loose thread. There was tension lingering since she had returned home from school, weak-limbed and out of breath. To their credit her parents took it in their stride, tucking her up in bed without much fuss.

The summer after the Department of Mysteries, her mum had walked out during an argument in the lounge. Reflecting back on it, she could see why her parents had been so worried; it wasn't normal for a sixteen year old to come home from boarding school exhausted and fighting crippling chest pain. They knew something dangerous had occurred, but Hermione refused to give them the answers they craved. 'Why can't you just leave it alone, I'm not a child,' she had screamed.

Even after a tearful apology the constant suspicious glances were too much, and six days later she joined the Weasleys at the Burrow; three weeks sooner than expected.

The summer before that, when Harry had witnessed the resurrection of Voldemort and Cedric lost his life, a tear-stained Hermione slumped into her parents' arms at platform nine and three-quarters. She spent two evenings curled up in bed with Hogwarts, A History, ignoring the world until Professor McGonagall appeared on her doorstep, urging her to go to Grimmauld Place. 'It's no longer safe,' McGonagall explained, 'you must be protected.'

Her parents were understandably furious. Hermione, normally so head-strong and determined, had been reduced to a quiet, tearful mess. They demanded an explanation, but none would come. 'I'll tell you later,' Hermione promised.

Later was a Christmas holiday skiing in France carefully planned but cancelled at the last minute.

Too much time had passed. She could feel it in the way they looked at her, forever tip-toeing around as though she was a stranger in their house. It wasn't just her magic that divided them anymore. She had witnessed so much, felt grief too deeply. As the amber vials dwindled on her desk, she had come to the realisation that she didn't belong in their world anymore.

Hermione watched her mother leave the room without another word for what felt like the millionth time that week. She could call her back and apologise. She could tell her about Dumbledore's death and the haunted look on Harry's face that terrified her.

Instead she pulled out Moments in Memories from under the duvet and fell further into herself.

Hermione downed the contents of the last vile, the thick, sour potion making her wince. She felt calmer than she had expected to, the world clearer and in focus. For the first time that year, she was at peace with herself, despite all she had done and was about to do.

She performed a cleansing spell and tucked her wand up her sleeve before placing the vial in her trunk, alongside a stack of paperbacks. Matilda, The Chronicles of Narnia, and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Childhood favourites full of magic and wonder. How ironic. Shutting the heavy lid her eyes swept through the room one last time, trying to stave off the overwhelming feeling of sorrow.

She found her mother out in the back garden, a glass of wine in her hand as watching the dusky-sky turn purple. Hermione leaned against the doorframe, hugging her arms around herself for comfort. She had earned her father's intelligence and curiosity towards the world, but it was her mother who gifted her with her looks. They shared the same unruly, brown curls and curveless frame. Her mum had green eyes instead of brown — Hermione always felt jealous about that — but the nose and chin were nearly identical.

On the summer nights her father was at rehearsal, this was her mother's ritual. Once the house was sufficiently tidy and the dishes put away, she would pour herself a glass of red wine and sit in on the back step until the sky turned dark. She said it was her reflection time.

Hermione cleared her throat before descending the few steps and sitting on the cool stones, her leg pressing up against her mums'.

Her mother gave her a half smile before gesturing toward the near-empty glass. 'Would you like some? You are of age now, I suppose.'

Hermione returned her smile and shook her head. 'No thank you. I probably shouldn't…'

Her mum turned back towards the sky. 'You're leaving again,' she stated after a while.

Hermione leaned back on her elbows, looking for the first sign of stars. 'Mrs Weasley can brew the medication I need to continue healing. It'll be easier to be there, at the Burrow. And…' She took a deep breath, stealing herself, 'it's not safe here anymore. For any of us.'

Her mother didn't flinch or shout or any of the other extreme reactions Hermione had anticipated. Instead, she calmly set down her wine glass and folded her hands neatly in her lap. In that moment Hermione could have sworn she was seeing double: she was nothing more than a magic-less seventeen year old confessing to skipping classes. Maybe a missed curfew after a night spent stealing kisses in the woods. She blinked and the image of the present day slid into place like a contact lense reorienting itself.

'Does this have anything to do with your injuries?' Her mother inquired.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes.'

'And the number of missing people… the families that disappear in the middle of the night. The rise of crime. Is that…'

'It's all the same.'

'Okay.' Her mum's nose wrinkled, as though she was trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 'Okay. You told me you were studying Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Hermione's chest squeezed painfully.

'It's something to do with the Dark Arts, isn't it?' Her mother continued. 'That's what this is, isn't it? They've been training you to fight.'

All the air left her lungs in a woosh and she pressed a hand against her chest to steady herself. 'I didn't think you listened.'

Her mother gave her a knowing look. 'Silly girl, I will always listen.'

Tears stung her eyes as she reached across to grip her mother's hands. 'Oh mum. It's so much worse. There's a war against people like me — people who are born to those without magic. This evil man, Lord Voldemort… he's behind it all. Everyone thought he had been defeated but he's back, and I don't know what to do. And Harry… there's a prophecy and…'

'Shhh.' Her mother tucked a curl behind Hermione's ear. 'Take a deep breath… just breathe a second.'

'Breathe Granger.'

Hermione exhaled slowly.

Her mum smiled gently. 'There now. Why don't you start at the beginning.'

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

She shouldn't. She knew too much at this point, and had been privy to far more than anyone should. Even so…

The weight of her wand tucked up in her sleeve pressed firmly against her forearm.

In a few hours it wouldn't matter. She would be at the Burrow, the whole conversation nothing more than a fever dream. Wasn't that the point of it all, to remove the risk? Would it even matter?

Hermione opened her mouth and let the words tumble out.

The Department of Mysteries, the Basilisk in second-year, the Triwizard tournament and the death of Cedric Diggory… The sky turned from its purple hue to an inky black, the stars blinking bright overhead as she recounted everything from the last six years. Eventually her father returned home to find them still sitting on the back step and persuaded them inside with warm drinks.

She told them about Sirius' death and how worried she was for Harry's state of mind. She found herself feeling strangely detached from it all as she filled in the details of Dumbledore's murder. Though in her retelling it was Harry who had informed her instead of Snape. Despite everything she had told her parents, there was a small part of her that needed to keep her relationship with her ex-professor to herself.

Finally, when the clock above the fireplace showed 2 a.m. Hermione fell silent, a great weight having been lifted from her shoulders.

A look passed between her parents as she waited in the middle of the room, wringing her hands together. Her father stood up and closed the distance between them to pull her into a hug. She fell into him, tears welling up once again that evening.

'Hermione. I'm incredibly proud to call you my daughter,' her father proclaimed. 'You're one of the bravest people I'll ever know. Harry and Ron are lucky to have you.'

She sniffed and hugged him tightly, never wanting to let him go.

Now.

She had to do it now.

She slipped her wand from her sleeve, her grip tight and sure.

You can, because you must.

The first light of dawn broke out across the sky as Hermione stumbled up the path to the Burrow, Crookshanks' basket under one arm, her trunk dragging behind her. According to Ginny later, George had spotted her first and awoke the house with a shout. But it was Ron, dependable Ronald, who came sprinting down the path towards her whilst still in his night clothes.

She allowed him to ease the basket from her grasp, to tuck her under his arm like a small child. She was thankful for the years of friendship between them, for the way he seemingly knew what had transpired only hours before. Wordlessly he led her to safety, her trunk following with a flick of his wand.

Fred, George, Mr Weasley, Tonks and Lupin waited for her on the porch.

'Have you asked her a question?' Lupin demanded, throwing an arm out to block Tonks from moving any further.

'Remus…' Tonks warned.

'We have to be sure, Dora. We can't take any chances.'

Hermione numbly glanced from Lupin to Ron, whose face was a dark shade of red.

'This is ridiculous, it's Hermione,' Ron protested.

Lupin withdrew his wand and stepped forward from the group. 'Exactly.' Hermione suddenly found the tip of his wand thrust in her face. 'What book were you reading on Christmas Eve.'

Hermione blinked once, then twice.

The pounding in her ears momentarily drowned everything out as the audacity of Lupin's words crashed through her like a tidal wave. Her teeth ground together, her nostrils flaring as she lunged forward, and slapped him hard across the cheek.

'Remus Lupin, you utter arsehole. How could you!' She shrieked.

Ron froze, his hand clasped against his mouth. One of the twins whistled.

The tips of Lupin's fingers grazed his cheek before a vicious growl came from his chest, his shoulders rounding.

'Hermione!' She felt Ron's arms wrap around her middle, yanking her backwards.

'What the hell, Hermione,' Tonks yelled, putting herself between them. Fred and George were at Ron's side in an instant, their wands raised.

Fred grinned at her. 'That was brilliant.'

Hermione struggled against Ron's arms. 'I trusted you,' she hissed at Lupin. 'I trusted you, and you ruined everything.'

Lupin closed his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. Tonks' peered at him warily.

'Alright, everyone, just take a deep breath,' Mr Weasley urged.

'Breathe Granger.'

Mr Weasley stepped around Tonks, blocking Lupin from view. 'Ron, why don't you take Hermione inside and get her set up in Ginny's room.'

'C'mon,' Ron said quietly. 'You look dead on your feet.'

She tried to wrench her arm from his grasp when he made a move to usher her along. 'Get off me, Ronald. I'm not going anywhere until he apologises.'

'Ooof, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,' George teased.

'My money's on the werewolf,' Fred murmured under his breath..

George's eyebrows shot into his hairline. 'No way. She's got that angry face Gin makes. Five sickles says she'll hex his bollocks off.'

Hermione glared at them both.

'Enough you two,' Mr Weasley chastised them.

'Do you really want to do this here, Hermione?' Lupin asked her, purposefully stepping back into her view.

She crossed her arms across her chest, stomping her foot into the dirt in frustration as she peered down her nose at him.

My, such temper, Miss Granger. Stop acting like a schoolgirl and grow up.

Tonks placed a gentle hand on Lupin's shoulder. 'Remus?'

Hermione exhaled out of her nose and dropped her arms to her sides. 'Fine.'

Lupin nodded, gesturing towards Mr Weasley's shed. She fought the urge to roll her eyes and followed him inside, where he promptly locked and silenced the doors.

You only have yourself to blame for this mess. What did you expect when you chose the werewolf over me?

Lupin pushed his hands into his pockets and leant against the worktop. Even in the dim light of the room a bright red mark was visible on his cheek. She cast her eyes downwards.

'I appreciate that everyone's emotions are running quite high at the moment. The events of the past few weeks have come as a great shock,' he stated calmly. 'I can only imagine what you must be feeling.'

'Don't you dare patronise me.' Her eyes blazed. 'You don't get it, do you? We were on the same side! He was training me for when—'

She shut her mouth, her teeth clinking together.

'For when…'

She shook her head. 'No. You don't deserve any more secrets.'

Lupin sighed deeply. 'Hermione, we're past this now. Dumbledore is… he's gone. The Order is fracturing and now more than ever we must stick together.'

The Order never cared about you or I. They're all self-serving imbeciles.

Her fingernails pressed into her palms. 'And that's Snape's fault, is it?'

He stared at her incredulously. 'Merlin, open your eyes! He murdered Albus Dumbledore in cold blood.'

'Only because you all backed him into a corner,' she roared. The second the words left her mouth a cold, tingling feeling crept through her blood. Could it have been true? Snape told her Dumbledore was fully aware of his impending death, that it was part of a plan. But what if Snape had had no other choice?

'Is that it?' He questioned, his head tilting to the side. 'You think he's some kind of hero.'

'Ron told me what he did. I know he's responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter.'

'Then you understand why he can't be trusted. When we find him, he will be shown no mercy,' Lupin vowed.

He's right, you know. Once a murderer, always a murderer. I deserve nothing less when the time comes.

She felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. Lupin was discussing the assassination of her mentor as though talking about the weather. Still, the news that Snape had been directly responsible for the murders of the Potters was a blow no one expected. It changed everything.

Silly girl.

'It still didn't give you the right to tell Dumbledore. Those lessons were mine,' she insisted, placing a hand to her chest.

Lupin gave her an expression she could only assume was pity. 'You have to understand, I had an obligation to tell Dumbledore—'

'An obligation?' She couldn't bear it. Her skin felt raw, like she had bathed in water too hot. 'The last time I checked, Remus, you haven't been my professor in over three years. I'm not your charge, I've been of legal age for nearly a year.'

Lupin dragged a hand down his face, his morning stubble clearer now in the growing light. Streams of sunrise crept through the boards that made up the shed, glinting off various muggle contraptions. Hermione was aware for the first time just how tired she was, having been up for nearly twenty-four hours.

'I won't apologise for doing what I thought was right. But,' he added, 'I can understand where your frustrations lie. Of all people, I know what it's like to feel ostracised and angry at the world.'

She leant back against the opposite workbench. 'Then why did you do it?'

'People like Snape, like Lord Voldemort… they are passionate and charismatic. They have a knack for drawing people in, for making them feel seen.'

A cool breeze tickled the hairs at the back of her neck and she shivered.

'You see,' he continued, 'the trick is that they're quite talented at reading people… at understanding their vulnerabilities and desires. They work out what makes you tick, what you fear… what you desire. And they position themselves in such a way that they make you believe that they alone are the only ones who truly understand you. They are the only ones who can give you what you need— for a price, of course.'

Who else knows you like I do? Purred the Snape in her head. Who else has seen the little Lioness inside?

'I know the price I paid,' Hermione told him bitterly. 'At least he was transparent about it.'

Lupin started, his face pailing. 'Hermione… did he… did you…'

Snape chuckled; a deep, rich sound that went straight down to her toes. He thinks you paid for your freedom in flesh.

Her stomach gave a funny summersault and she blushed. 'No.' She shook her head, embarrassed by the suggestion. 'No. He would never…'

'Forgive me,' Lupin said in a rush, his own cheeks turning pink. 'It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. I think he's proven to us now that he is a Death Eater, through and through.'

Logically, she knew the sentiment was correct. Although he had never explicitly stated what it meant to be a Death Eater, he had never shied away from the darker realities. She had always pushed the ideas to the back of her brain, refusing to let herself paint him in that light.

She always told herself that Snape didn't want it: he was just a pawn in the game, playing his role.

But he did it. He gave up the Potters.

The war inside herself made her head roar.

'And how many of you can say that your hands are clean?' She deflected.

There she is. Show him your claws.

She drew herself up to her full height, taking a step closer towards him. 'Dumbledore and the Order claim to protect the innocents, but only when it suits them— isn't that right?'

Lupin frowned. 'The Order will always do what they can to protect those from Voldemort.'

He lies.

Out of the corner of her eye the shadows in the corner of the shed shifted.

Hermione peered down her nose at Lupin. 'Like my parents?'

Smug satisfaction coiled in her gut as the realisation dawned across his face.

'Oh Hermione…'

'There was never any plan for them, was there?' Her lip curled in disgust and she turned away from him, her arms drawn across her chest. 'I was naive before; I see that now. I thought that because I was a friend of Harry's my parents would be offered some sort of protection.' Her laugh was hollow. 'D'you know, I don't even think Harry has given it a thought.'

'I am truly, very sorry,' he answered at last, as though a few words could rectify years of negligence.

She wanted to throw something. No, she wanted to break something. Her pain demanded an outlet. 'It's too late for that.'

'We'll call a meeting. We'll come up with a plan to hide them, just as we're hiding the Dursleys.'

She shoved an old toaster off the bench with a loud clatter. 'I told you, it's too late!'

Her stomach rose into her throat as she spun around, her nerve endings tingling hot and cold.

In the shadows behind Lupin, leaning up against the wall with his hands tucked into his robes was Snape.

It was impossible. He couldn't be there.

Her heart skipped a beat as the shadow-Snape raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with the hint of a smirk.

She licked her lips and forced her attention back on Lupin. 'They're safe now. No thanks to any of you.'

Lupin's brow furrowed again. 'Snape.'

Snape pushed off the wall, his movements confident; arrogant. He leaned over the worktop beside Lupin, his dark eyes glittering. Challenging her.

'He was the only one to actually offer me a solution.' She rubbed at her wrist and watched as Snape's eyes flickered to the spot. She shoved the sleeve of her cardigan down over her hand.

'Which explains your loyalty towards him,' Lupin acknowledged. He extended his hands out to her, an offering of peace. 'It sounds like you've been through a lot in these past few weeks. Come inside. Let's have some breakfast and then we can sort this out.'

Loyalty.

The word struck her to her core. Is that what it was, the desire to run to him, to protect him, even now. Even after everything.

She looked at Lupin's hands. She wanted so badly to follow him back into the Burrow, to admit to him and the others what she had done so she could let the Order take care of things. Maybe it wasn't too late for her parents.

Snape was still studying her, a look of pure curiosity on his face. Hermione locked eyes with him.

'Tell Ron I'll be in shortly.'

She missed the sad look Lupin gave her as he exited the shed. The door clicked shut and she took a step towards the workbench.

'This doesn't change anything,' Hermione said out loud. 'I still hate you.'

The words lacked their earlier venom. She would never forgive him— that much she knew was true. But he lingered in her marrow, pulling her down into the darkness. After all, she reminded herself, they had made a deal.

Snape gave her a wolfish grin.

We shall see.

I'm so sorry for the delays in between chapters these past two months. Anyone who's a parents know how hard it can be to get things done when the kids are on break! But they're now back at school and I've got my writing time back so things should return to the normal bi-weekly posting schedule. Thank you for all your patience and understanding :)

Playlist:
The Sting of Loss, Kerry Muzzey with The Chamber Orchestra of London
Wolves Without Teeth, Of Monsters and Men