Severus barely recognized his own daughter when he collected her from a pick-up location in Tokyo. Hermione stood in a throng of Japanese children, a petite blond girl around sixteen and a tall, thin dark-haired and skinned boy, howling with laughter. He recognized the Yamato siblings, the others he could only guess at their identities by names Hermione gave him before.

"Hi, Dad," she waved after separating from the group.

Hermione stood differently, straighter, he thought. She had bothered to tie her hair out of her face and he noticed her skin wasn't only darker, but freckles splashed across her rosy nose and cheeks. How had he never noticed she freckled before? There was a gleam in her brown eyes that he'd never before noticed and a damn near spring in her step as she turned back to wave goodbye. A far cry from the withering wall flower he somehow managed to raise. He hoped the changes were permanent.

He drew her into his arms and noticed that she had grown taller as well, her head level with his sternum. He remembered that she was nearly thirteen with a sudden pang. It didn't seem so long ago that she barely cleared his knees and needed to be carried when confronted with stairs. It was as if he blinked and the baby in his arms grew overnight.

Don't be so dramatic, she is till so very far from grown. He thought running a hand over the top of her head. "Are you ready to come home?"

"Oh, well, if it's optional..." Hermione teased.

"It's not," he mussed her hair. "I'm not spending another month with no one but that damned owl. I suspect you were right about him, very judgemental."

"I suppose I should wait till you're no longer my legal guardian before saying I 'told you so'?"

"Indeed, I suppose so."

The two shared a laugh and he tried to put aside the reality for a few brief moments before they returned to Britain. He hoped again that the changes he'd observed in her, how she carried herself and the gleam in her eye, wouldn't be undone. If it was, this time around he knew exactly who to blame.

"This never does get old, Hermione," her father sighed examining her. "Are you okay?"

The two of them had apparated in an almost empty pub run by a tall, old man with a face similar to Dumbledore's, though with a straight nose and permanent scowl. Hermione wondered why they hadn't simply apparated into a street. It was around five in Tokyo, which she thought should have meant it was morning here. The morning fog she spied through the window was much, much thicker than usual. And it was freezing. Both of these things Hermione noticed only after she emerged from a toilet after being sick. If he was frustrated with it, how the hell did he think she felt?

"Yessir," she nodded rubbing her arms.

"Cold?" he asked placing a hand on her head.

"Freezing," she admitted.

Hermione took in the site, two sombre older men were deep into their cups as the barman clutched a cloak about his shoulders, shivering between drinks and casting a weary eye out the window. The cold, apparating in a building, the fog. Something was wrong.

"Dad," she wrung her hands together. "What's going on?"

"You've heard of dementors before, yes?" he said.

"I've read a bit about them," Hermione bit her lip.

Awful beings that literally fed off the misery of others and had the ability to suck the very soul from a person. The very thought of them made Hermione's stomach churned. She read more than a little bit about them. She was disgusted and compelled to know more. She'd even read accounts of people who had simply been around them. Some reported feeling trapped in a dark hole, a waning light just out of reach and flickering until it was extinguished. They thought they'd never be happy again. Hermione had felt that on her own, and she didn't want to think of how it would affect her...

Her father's grim expression told her why he was bringing them up. They were in Hogsmede...

"That makes things easier to explain," he said. "There are dementors combing the village. They should stay away, but you need be prepared if they approach. They can make people relive their worst memories, exploit thoughts and insecurities to drain them. It's extremely dangerous, especially for you. You're not exactly the picture of stability."

I'm back in the country for five minutes and you're already calling me mad?! Hermione thought but bit her lip. He wasn't wrong and she couldn't really blame him. She nervously wrung her hands and nodded.

"My point," he said, his expression softening and resting his hand on her head. "Is that you should know exactly what you're walking into and why you're vulnerable. We're going to walk out of here and you are going to are perhaps going to hear things. It's imperative that you ignore these things and keep your eyes forward. Am I understood?"

"Why are a group of creatures that prey on the mentally ill stalking the village?" she asked.

It didn't make sense. She didn't agree with the use of them at all, but even the arses at the ministry wouldn't be so foolish as to let them loose upon the only all-wizarding settlement in Britain.

Her father sighed. "I said you were vulnerable, not mad."

But I'm not exactly the picture of stability either, she thought digging her nails into her hands. "I didn't ask that," she said in a small voice.

"The tone, Hermione Elizabeth," he groaned, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"There was an escape of a very dangerous individual from Azkaban, named Sirius Black. Have you read anything about him?"

His name came up very frequently in the files her father made her read the summer before her first year. But juvenile pranks, no matter how traumatic to the recipient, was not what landed him in Azkaban. His name came up in the Prophet in the archives, Hermione stumbled across it once or twice, but she couldn't remember the context. It had been so long ago, and Hermione come across all sorts of names when she and the others re-ordered the archives. She closed her mind and wracked her memory. She had a good memory if she read it...

"I'll refresh your memory then," he said leaning in close. "Sirius Black is a vile and inordinately cruel man responsible for the deaths of at least fifteen people. Twelve years in prison and he's broken free. We believe he's after Potter, which is why we have dementors combing the area."

A serial or mass murder was after Harry? Hermione swallowed and wondered if he knew there was such a dangerous man after him. How much went on this summer while she was off looking at flowers and kissing boys? That's not fair! You have no control over-life's not fair...Jesus, you stupid girl, why do you do this to yourself?

"When did he escape?" she asked.

"I believe two days ago," he cupped her face in his hands and a cross between fear and anger came over his face. "And this extremely important. He was cruel long before he became a murderer, and I can only imagine what he's capable of after twelve years in Azkaban. I need you to think about that, have that at the forefront of your mind next time Potter drags you out on one of his little misadventures. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Hermione nodded.

The two left the building with a nod to the barman and entered the thick, cold fog.

"Stay close, love," he said.

Hermione didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Her father held her hand in a deathgrip, as if she'd fall away if he let go in the slightest, and nearly dragged her behind him as he marched forward. For a moment she thought she enjoyed the thirty days overseas, not because of Hiro and her friends, but because of the freedom from his suffocating nature.

There were extenuating circumstances, sure, but this was always his way. He had a talent for demanding that she do things herself while simultaneously stomping on her autonomy. Of infantilising her and at the same time demanding maturity from her. She didn't know why, but following him in the dense, freezing fog, she felt a sudden sense of clarity. She'd come to understand the paradoxical nature that she had been raised with. Hermione was somehow always a victim and yet everything was her fault. She didn't trust him, or anyone. She didn't trust that anyone could simply see her as enough as-did he do that to her? Do I resent my father...?

You're an ungrateful daughter and you don't deserve half the patience he gives you. You're the way you are because of you and no one else.

Dad said I would hear voices...

He only raised you, nursed you back to health, taught you, comforted you and supported you. You burden him and you resent him for it? You stupid little girl, what is wrong with you? Impetuous, insufferable child...

Hermione tried to shut the voices out, but they were relentless. And they weren't all the usual voice that knocked around inside her head.

You wanted to be told when you were being a bitch? Ron's voice shouted. Well there hasn't been a time you haven't been one since we met! No wonder no one can stand her! She's a bloody nightmare, honestly! I swear she's actually worse than Snape! I'm sure she's noticed she hasn't got any friends! Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I don't know why you bother with that one, mate.

What the hell, Hermione?! Harry and Ron cried, and Hermione remembered Harry bleeding over his eye after she'd scratched him.

Harry's voice spoke again. I need your help, but I reckon you need someone else's.

What do you want? O'Malley sneered. Did you just figure out that being seen within three metres of you is social suicide?

See, your father was right about you...obsessive, nervous, and freezing when you don't have complete control. Failure! Useless!

I thought you were supposed to be the smart one? You're mental, broken, Ginny-Riddle taunted. All you are is what you can do for others, and you're completely useless!

Hermione grew colder, weaker as she tried to resist the spiral that she so often let herself go down. It grew harder to ignore them as everything everyone close to her had ever said to confirm her suspicions that she was nothing rang in her head. She half hoped that it would be Lavender and the other girls 'ming-ming-ming-ing' at her, walking back from the baths naked because Lavender stole her clothes, the pain of being transfigured or any other indignity suffered by the likes of bullies. No, it was her father and her friends that she heard. Her uncomfortable rage and resentment, the crippling disappointment. The crushing dread...she had been so happy in the bamboo forest with Hiro...she wondered if it was real...a dream...not that it mattered, she would never be that happy again.

The forest... the air left her lungs and blood froze in her veins as she remembered the ill-looking British wizard on the cliff. What if he did jump, and just waited till after we left? It's possible...

"I thought you had put your foot down on the matter of dementors on the bloody platform!" her father shouted.

"And I did," Dumbledore's voice said, edged with impatience.

Hermione stirred gently, lifting herself into a sitting position before rubbing her eyes. She was in a very familiar setting. If she could go one damn year without winding up in the hospital wing...

"Hermione," her father sighed with relief at her side and threw an arm around her shoulders. "How are you feeling, love?"

Pathetic, useless, like all the things you and so many others said I was, she thought but forced a smile. "I'm fine, Dad." That poor man...please let me have done the right thing...

"Dementors!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "The minister setting up to be with people who are already so delicate!"

Delicate's a nicer word for frail...shut up! "I'm fine."

"Never believe her when she says that," her father sighed rising to let Pomfrey examine her. "You know how frail she is"

Love you too, Dad, she thought bitterly.

"Not quite the welcome back we'd hoped for, Hermione," Dumbledore smiled. "But I assure you, it won't be an issue in the future. You're perfectly safe while on the grounds."

That was a change from the last thing he said to her. It seemed all grown-ups had the ability to tell her she was a disappointment and act like it never happened. And Dumbledore blamed her for being cynical? That was months ago. It's not his fault you stock-pile every bad thing said to and about you...

Then a nastier, angrier voice in her head spoke. It's your father's fault.

"I'm glad you're okay," Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses at her. "I do hope you get better. A word, Severus?"

"Yes, headmaster," he nodded before turning to Hermione. "Follow all of Madam Pomfrey's orders. I'll be back."

Hermione watched the two men leave and wondered if she'd left her sanity in Japan...

This never get old, Hermione...It was the exasperated disappointment in his voice after she'd been sick. She still couldn't alongside apparate without feeling sick. That tone...she felt it leave her as she remembered everything.

The man had never failed at anything, never fucked up the way she had...he couldn't know how hard it was to live knowing all she was was a disappointment.

"That was a disaster," Dumbledore said.

"Understatement of the bloody millennium," Severus growled. "She's not been in the country an hour and already wound up in the hospital. Fuck...the sooner those things find that son of a bitch the better."

Dumbledore knit his white eyebrows and peered over his half-moon glasses with that damned knowing twinkle in his blue eyes. "Do you truly wish for that man to lose his soul?"

"Are you honestly judging me for that?" he scoffed. "You know what that man is capable of. We'll just forget that he spent years tormenting those less fortunate him as a solution to boredom; and we'll forget that he thought feeding another humanbeing to a werewolf was simply a harmless little bit of mischeif, shall we?"

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed.

"He told the Dark Lord where to find the Potters. Ratted out his best friend and they're dead as a result. "

"Does that sound familiar?" he asked. "Don't forget that you are guilty of a similar crime."

Severus's blood froze in his veins and he swallowed. It was true. If it wasn't for him...if he hadn't spied on Trelawney that night... Lily would be alive. Even after all this time it tormented him. She was dead and it was his fault. Begging Voldemort to spare her made no difference and never would have. Now that he had Hermione he understood that. If someone offered to spare him for his daughter...he would offer himself without a second thought.

He imagined Lily at his age now, the age she was supposed to be, with his job (at least when she was sixteen, the job of Potions Master was something she wanted, but that could have changed), spoiling her brat of a son, living a blissfully dull and unhindered life. He wondered if she would have had the same apprehensions toward his daughter that he had toward her son.

That man was a bitter, cruel arse full of hate, Harry, and he probably raised his daughter the same... Perhaps he had to rethink judging the child for the sins of the father...but Potter was so like his father...

Another pang hit with a realization came over him. If Lily were alive she would have no such opinions of Hermione. Hermione wouldn't be his daughter if he hadn't hid among muggle England with the hope of catching a glimpse of her. To somehow apologize. If Lily and her family never went into hiding he would never have rented that tiny apartment next to the young couple with the sick, magical baby. If he never betrayed Lily, she would be with the muggles-if she were alive. It pained him to think of how the best-and he often thought only-good part of his life, the only good decision he had ever made was inextricably linked to the worst decision he had ever made.

Why did he do it? Lily shouldn't have had to die for Hermione to have a half-way capable parent-and he just barely met that criteria. So why?

If it wasn't the Potters he went after, if Voldemort never heard the prophecy, would he still be working on the right side? Or would he have continued to operate as Death Eater. Trying so hard to work his way up in ranks because that was the only way he could feel powerful, only way he could feel safe. And as much as it sickened him to admit, his heart fluttered every time a higher up, especially Voldemort, expressed approval. Deep down there was still that little boy who had never been good enough for his venomous mother-who undercut any achievement and expressed her martyrdom for a disappointment- or his physically violent father. Because in his twenties he still desperately searched for sources of parental approval in all the wrong places.

"I didn't murder thirteen people afterwards," he said coolly.

"I suppose you didn't," Dumbledore sighed, voice dripping with cold judgement.

Not murdering thirteen people, well, aren't you a fucking saint? That certainly makes up for facilitating the murder of the only friend you ever had! Your little girl must be so proud! You stupid piece of shit.

"I don't imagine you called me here to discuss my views on the treatment a mass murderer?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "Though I don't imagine you think one has to be a saint to be afforded basic human rights?"

Severus didn't know why it came to him, but he couldn't help but chuckle. "Hermione would accuse you of being exclusionary by calling them 'human rights'."

"Ah, yes," he smiled faintly. "Not a saint either, but she certainly tries, doesn't she?"

"The girl does have a martyr complex roughly the size of Africa," he admitted. "Why am I here?"

Dumbledore sighed and his muscles tensed. "There is no good way to tell you this, Severus, but I came to a decision on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and you're not going to like it, I'm afraid."

"I see," he said. "Did you invite Lockhart back? I for one think he might be better now that he's lost his memory."

"Heavens no, Severus," Dumbledore chuckled. "Though I'm happy to see you're not upset it's not you."

"I thought I lost my daughter," he said. "I still see her bleeding out now and then. It-it puts things in perspective. You know if I had the last thing I would have told her was a lie? After telling her she was a little idiot in the way of adults...Being precious about the subject I teach seems a bit pathetic after that."

"I see," he mused. "Well I certainly hope you two have worked things out then."

You're not exactly the picture of stability...why the hell did I say that? "She seemed happy enough before the incident. You're stalling."

"It's Remus Lupin, Severus," he said quickly.

"WHAT?!" he coughed. "That man-he-why?"

"He's more than qualified and he's done exceptional work with spirits in East Asia over the past five years. He's recently done work with Yokai-"

"My daughter's the Japan fetishist, not me," he snarled. "To hire that man is horribly irresponsible! He's a fucking werewolf!"

"I'm more than aware of that fact, Severus," he said, now exasperated. "And we both know something that can mitigate that fact, don't we?"

"Wolfsbane potion," he groaned. "A very new and very particular treatment I believe."

"It's passed testing, Severus, and I know you would handle it with the utmost care."

He was expected to treat one of his tormentors? The man nearly killed him when they were sixteen. And before that he made tried his damnedest to ensure he wouldn't mind it if he did. The man was a monster both figuratively and literally. And friends with Sirius Black. Treat his condition, trust him not to turn to his old friend, trust him with his daughter...

He wasn't by far the worst of them...he was complicit though...except what he was most upset about.

"His condition isn't his fault. I know that," he said slowly. "But I still-he still-" he choked, tripping over his words. "Why the hell should I let my daughter anywhere near him?"

"Because people change and mature. You did."

"If he's still in contact with his old mate the students, and Potter in particular, are in very real danger. I don't-" he breathed. "I can only imagine what that man is capable of after twelve years in prison. You think Lupin kept Black in line, it's wrong. Black could always appeal to Lupin. That's what he always did, appeal to some poor soul's desperation for approval or connection- and if he does that now-if he-if-" he took a breath again. "If I find Black anywhere near my daughter we won't be having a conversation about the ethics of the dementor's kiss. Both men will only wish for something so merciful." That's not an impossible threat to make good on...but those men are dead if she gets hurt.

"I half-hoped raising a child would have aided in your reformation," Dumbledore sighed. "But I suppose this is a conversation we had before."

"I imagine you also expect my silence," he folded his arms over his chest and collected himself.

"Of course," he said.

"I get to tell her," Severus said. "You want to endanger other people's children, fine. I'm not sending mine in blind."

Dumbledore shot him a withering gaze over his glasses. What made his stomach churn? The perceived disgust or disappointment? There was a very tense silence that weighed heavily on the two men. Dumbledore spoke with a note of finality: "I can't control what you say to your daughter, but I expect you will respect my wishes. It is the very least you can do."

The least he could do was nothing. But whatever force possessed him, he agreed.

A scream pierced the night with a peel of thunder and Severus leapt to his feet with his wand ready. He ran the short distance to Hermione's room to find her bed empty.

That scream, the empty bed. It was hailing and thundering, she couldn't be outside in that, could she? A tightness formed in his chest as he wondered where his child had run off to. He didn't imagine that scream. She's alright. She has to be alright...

He started to search the room when two large eyes reflected the light of his wand from under the bed. He lowered himself down to see his daughter curled up like a frightened cat.

"For the love of all that is holy, get out from under there, now!" he barked. "Waking the entire castle and then cowering under the bed. What is wrong with you?"

The tiny girl crawled out from under the bed and stood up, wringing her hands in front of her and staring at her bare feet and hiding behind her bushy hair. She let out a tiny series of squeaks that he couldn't make heads or tails of in either of the languages they spoke.

"I'm waiting, Hermione Elizabeth," he folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. "You are far too old for this nonsense."

"S-sorry, Daddy," she sobbed.

She was frightened and you... made her cry... "Hermione," he knelt down to her eye level and took her little hands in his, softening his voice. "You're six (barely) now, doesn't that seem a bit big to be afraid of a silly little storm?"

Hermione sniffed and gave a stiff nod.

"We're underground," he explained pointing to the small window close to the roof. "That's why your window is so tiny. The storm can't hurt us."

Hermione again nodded, but dug her nails into her hands.

Severus sighed and lifted her into her bed. "This is what we're going to do," he instructed, covering her and using his thumbs to wipe her tears. "When the sky lights up we're going to count until we hear the thunder. For every five seconds, it'll be a mile away. Okay?"

Lightning lit up the sky as if on cue.

"One," they counted together. "Two, Thr-"

The thunder roared through the sky and his plan back-fired as the six-year-old girl gave a terrified squeak. "That means it's really close!"

"Yes, little girl," he groaned. "That is how I said it works."

"Sorry, Daddy," she whimpered.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," a four-year-old Severus wept.

"Waking the whole damn town," Tobias Snape spat. "Quit your whinging or I'll give you something to cry about! Jesus Christ!" he lifted his swollen hand to examine it. "The hell did you do to me, you little shite?!"

"He's just a baby, Tobias," Eileen approached, the lightning flashed and illuminated her bruised face. "I'll handle it, I always do."

Tobias stormed off shouting curses to contend with the thunder roaring outside.

"Oh, my sweet darling boy," Eileen cooed. "Let's crawl into bed and I'll teach you how to tell how close the storm is and-Merlin, why is everything wet? Did you-For fuck's sake, Severus, it's bad enough your father has this damn house reeking of beer and failure and you have to add piss into the mix? What is wrong with you?"

"It's fine, love," he sighed. "Let's see if it moved, shall we?"

"One," they counted together again. "Two, three-"

Thunder roared outside once more. Hermione let out another horrified squeak before breaking into sobs.

"It's alright, love," he drew her into his arms and pat her head. "I'm here. I'm here."

"You could have handled that better, Sev."

Severus turned from the sleeping girl to find Lily staring at him, lightning flashing in her green eyes. Once again, he had been dreaming of a memory he wished he could change. And once again the version of Lily constructed from his guilt relished in tormenting him. You deserve this, you stupid piece of shit.

"It's funny," Lily sat on Hermione's other side, brushing her cheek. "You've been wracking your shite brains for two days now wondering what little Hermione suffered that was so traumatic to have fainted because two dementors were simply nearby, and the answers are all within your own memories."

"Hermione was abducted by someone wearing her friend's face." he said. "I would venture to say that's traumatic. If not that, her mother-"

"You're pathetic, Severus," Lily sighed. "You shamed a frightened six-year-old. Don't you think she's learned from heart-to-hearts like this? How much do you think she's internalized? You were so happy to see your little rosy cheeked girl with a spring in her step and it disappeared the moment you brought her home. Say, didn't that happen last summer too? Ever think the problem was you, not the bloody dementors?"

"Lily," he choked. "It's not like that-I would never hurt her-"

"But you have hurt me, Daddy," six-year-old Hermione stirred. "I was never good enough. You never approved of anything, and now I'm going to look for it in the worst places. I'm never going to have a healthy relationship, I'm never going to be comfortable in my own skin. I'm broken and it's all your fault!"

"No, love," he swallowed. "That-"

"You really are pathetic, Snivellius," said a gaunt, pale man with unkempt black hair and facial hair he recognized from the Prophet and...else where. "Come here, little one. It's alright, there's no way I can hurt you as much as he has."

"Get the fuck away from my baby, Black!" he cried.

Black already had Hermione in his arms, smiling wolfishly at the little girl. "You're an adorable little hostage, aren't you? I'm going to convince you to hear me out. It's approval you crave, isn't it? It'll be easier to use you to get to Harry. If you survive you'll never live with the guilt."

Severus awoke with a gasp, clutching his chest. He knew it was all a dream, but the terror was very real. Hermione had been used to get to Potter before, would Black come to the same conclusion? He didn't actually think Hermione could be appealed to by the likes of Sirius Black just because she craved approval. Hermione was always so god damn independent, she can't have...

Because you were always so open about how your parents behaviour affected you? Lily's voice scoffed in his head.

Thunder rolled somewhere over head. It seemed there was an actual storm raging in the present. Why not?

You should check on her, Lily's voice said again. She knows better than to come to you.

He did just that to see that she still had her lamp lit, and was stretched out on her stomach, pouring over a thick volume and taking notes.

"It's three o'clock in the morning, love," he observed.

"Sorry, Dad, it's-erm- six-o'clock Tokyo time," she sighed sitting up. "Did the light wake you?"

"No," he shook his head leaning in the door frame. "Went to make myself tea and noticed the light."

Hermione knit her eyebrows and bit her lip. "Are you feeling alright, Dad? You look-"

"Just one of those nights, love," he dismissed. "I gave you a sleeping draught to deal with the jetlag."

"You did," Hermione sighed looking away. "Erm-"

Nightmares again, eh? "Why don't you join me?"