Thirteen for the Truth

Chapter 15: Thirteen for the Truth

The sound of laughing students greeted Hermione when she entered the Great Hall later that morning. Sleep had proved elusive, but at least the pain in her head had faded to a dull ache. The urge to snarl at the children singing Christmas carols was difficult to suppress, but she managed it nonetheless, just as she forced herself to smile and respond to the various holiday greetings thrown her way. Although the timing was coincidental, she still felt inordinately perturbed that Christmas had not been cancelled for her emotional crisis.

Snape had been absent from their living quarters when she'd left her bedroom, and he had obviously decided to avoid the Great Hall as well. She went through the motions of joining the other teachers at the staff table, curling her lip as breakfast materialised before her. Her thoughts were disorganised, random: regrets bounded through her brain like a herd of fleeing gazelles. It was a pointless endeavour, but still, she couldn't stop herself from recounting the choices she had made, examining each scenario for alternatives. Before long, she had slipped into the dangerous game of wondering precisely where it had all gone wrong, as if it could be charted. Her life had succumbed to the butterfly effect...one decision had somehow started the soft wings flapping until eventually, unavoidably, they'd created this tornado, sucking her in, obliterating her world.

Her musings were broken by a voice.

"Is anything the matter, my dear? You haven't touched your porridge!" Filius Flitwick stood at her side, his small frame half-obscured by the vacant chair where Neville normally sat. It was not the voice she had wanted to hear.

With a smile pasted on her face, she intoned the requisite holiday pleasantries.

"Would you care to join me?" She indicated Neville's chair, knowing he'd be spending Christmas at St Mungo's with his parents and grandmother.

Filius shook his head. "Thank you, but I've just finished. I saw you ignoring your breakfast and wanted to make sure you were quite well."

Touched by his concern, she gave him a small but genuine smile and said, "Just a slight headache."

He patted her arm and winked. "A bit of overindulgence at the Malfoys' last night?" he asked.

She nodded, hoping he hadn't noticed the blood draining from her face.

"I believe Severus has an excellent potion for times like this. You should convince him to share the recipe!" His eyes twinkled with merriment.

She mumbled her thanks, promising to heed his suggestion. After he left, she relaxed her shoulders and allowed the tight smile to dissolve from her face. Her porridge had grown cold, and the sight of the gelatinous beige mass made her nauseous. She pushed it aside, untouched, settling for strong tea instead.

A shadow fell across the table; lifting her gaze, she saw an owl swooping down with a roll of parchment clutched in its beak. A hastily penned note from Draco was deposited beside her plate. She read his concern over her abrupt departure from Malfoy Manor and smiled at his suggestion that she speak to Minerva about joining him and Luna for the remainder of the holiday. She spent the next hour drafting her response, painfully cognisant of the secrets and lies that had got her into her current predicament but deeming their continuation necessary. As much as she hated lying to Draco, she had no desire to ruin his Christmas...and his excitement over Luna's pregnancy...by explaining the intricacies of his father's loathsome plans. Draco was far too perceptive to be fooled and too intelligent to settle for a sanitised version of the truth. For now, the less he knew the better. She doubted she'd be able to continue the charade for long.

The effort spent making her reply to Draco sound grateful, light-hearted, and suitably convincing drained her. By the time she trudged up the stairs to the headmistress's office later that afternoon, her limbs were heavy.

Finding the office empty, Hermione placed a brightly-coloured box on Minerva's desk. Before the term had begun, she'd found a lovely brooch shaped like a Quidditch Cup trophy. It was inlaid with garnets and yellow topaz, the colours of Gryffindor, and she suspected the headmistress would superstitiously wear it to the matches.

Removing a small envelope from her robes, she placed it alongside the box and turned to leave. She glanced at Dumbledore's portrait and started at the sight of him smiling down at her. Although Dumbledore was always present for the headmistress, he was hardly the type of portrait to content himself with staying in one location for long. It was rare to catch him alone like this.

"Ah! Hermione," he greeted her warmly. "Happy Christmas!"

"And to you, Professor," she told him.

"You seem troubled, my dear."

She smiled at him, not at all surprised that even in portrait form he was keenly observant. "Holidays can be melancholy," she offered.

He looked sympathetic. "You must be correct: Severus was in here earlier looking even more grim than usual." The blue eyes sparkled when her head snapped up.

"That's my fault, I'm afraid," she said, startled by her own admission.

"You've had an argument?"

"Yes... No," she began, looking down, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I did something... unforgivable."

"I see." He sounded grave.

"It was a long time ago when we all thought he'd never wake up," she tried to explain before stopping abruptly. "There's no way to justify it. What I did was wrong, and I knew it was wrong. And I've regretted it ever since."

Dumbledore pondered her for a moment. "I believe you'll find that if anyone understands regrets and poor decisions, it's Severus. Just be patient. I daresay he'll come around, eventually."

She doubted that. "I don't see how he could forgive this. Has he ever forgiven himself for his own mistakes?"

He paused, seeming to consider her question. "Perhaps not," he agreed at length.

She nodded, the confirmation making her somehow sadder than her earlier confession.

"But it seems to me that forgiveness is a bit like a Christmas cake," he said, and she gaped at him when he actually held up a Christmas cake next to his face in the portrait. "You'll find that people are often willing to give it to someone else even when they'd never want to receive it themselves."

She chuckled at the analogy and could almost hear Ron's voice in her head, proclaiming Dumbledore was off his rocker.

"I hope you're right, sir," she told him finally. She wished him a Happy Christmas again and left.

It was late on Christmas evening when Hermione finally saw Snape. She had returned from Minerva's office to find the living quarters empty. If it hadn't been for her conversation with Dumbledore...and a freshly brewed bottle of headache tonic on the kitchen table...she might have thought he'd packed up and left the castle entirely. Tracing her finger along the bottle of tonic, she wondered about the gesture. Was he feeling remorse for the harshness of his actions the previous evening? She'd spent the day wrapped in a blanket of regrets, sparing very little thought to how much fault he shared.

In one way, she had embraced the pain...the shame she carried for having wronged him could not be assuaged by mere words. Access to her memories seemed like a fair price to pay for having stolen the same from him. If an explosive Legilimency session was the pound of flesh he demanded from her, she was willing to give it, if only to temper the all-consuming guilt that spread like a cancer.

Then again, his journey through her mind had strayed off course before he had learnt of her indiscretions. If she hadn't, in fact, had something so monumental to hide, no doubt she'd be feeling very different about his actions.

With her thoughts once again in turmoil, she sat before the fire, book in hand, although the ability to concentrate was as distant as the moon. She let the warmth of her favourite overstuffed chair envelope her, and she soon fell asleep. It was several hours later when rough hands shook her awake.

Snape loomed over her chair, a large scroll of parchment tucked beneath his arm. She straightened and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkened chambers.

"Beds are for sleeping, not chairs," he chastised her.

The sight of his face made her throat constrict. It was clear he had not slept: shadows darkened the hollows beneath his eyes, and his skin appeared ashen. For a brief moment, his guard lowered. He searched her face, revealing a glimpse of something so raw, so vulnerable, she flinched from the knowledge she had caused it.

"I'm sorry." She regretted much more than her choice of sleeping locales.

"Did you take the tonic?"

She shook her head. "My head is fine," she said, noting the look of relief on his face. "I didn't realise Legilimency was painful."

His hands clenched into fists. "It rarely is...I've never seen anyone react..." His voice trailed away, and he seemed unable to meet her eyes. "That should not have happened."

"No... It shouldn't have." Her tone held reproof, as much for his actions as hers.

"You were hiding something about me. I had to see what it was."

"How could you know I was hiding something about you?"

"I felt it the instant I entered your mind," he said, as if the explanation should have been obvious. "Have you never attempted to perform Legilimency?"

At the shake of her head, he slipped into teaching mode, sounding just as she remembered from his lectures.

"It's difficult to explain if you've never explored another's thoughts. Individuals...acquaintances, colleagues, friends..." he paused, his expression darkening, "... lovers...imprint upon the mind in very specific ways, as do strong or traumatic memories. By their very nature, deep secrets leave a unique trace. It was immediately clear there were two such incidents in your mind...one involving Lucius, and the other..."

"Your memories." Now she was the one finding eye contact impossible. "I shouldn't have looked at them."

"Yes," he agreed. He sounded weary, and she couldn't stop her gaze from seeking his face. His expression surprised her. "And I should not have pushed beyond what you were willing to show me. We are...neither of us...blameless."

She swallowed, thinking of the pain they'd both inflicted, the decisions that had brought them here. "I never intended my curiosity would overrule my conscience."

In his eyes, there appeared a fleeting moment of recognition, but it was gone in an instant. "I can understand curiosity...obviously...I couldn't resist the pull, either." He frowned, studying her as if she were some puzzle that defied a solution. Shaking his head, he said, "But to have kept this from me for so long... each time we were intimate, knowing this and yet..."

He took a step back from her, still staring intently, and then the mask came crashing back in place. The discussion was over.

"I'm sorry," she said, hating that she had somehow justified living the lie the entire time she'd been sleeping with him.

His gaze flicked over her body, curled into the chair, and his tone became gruff. "You'll injure your neck if you sleep in that ridiculous chair. Go to your room." He sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his shoulders at the unfortunate choice of directives. Had it been any other time, they might have laughed at the preposterous command...'go to your room.' Instead, he scowled and said, "Good night."

"Good night," she mumbled to his back as he retreated. She watched his door close, keeping his image in her mind as she stretched the kinks from her neck and departed for her bedroom. Exhaustion stole into her body, creeping along her arms and legs but stopping cold when her mind refused to yield. She lay awake, haunted by the memory of his eyes and the pain she had caused. For the second night in a row, she contemplated the ways they might have been celebrating Christmas if not for the chain of events that had begun at the Malfoys' Christmas Eve ball.

As terrible as she felt, though, some part of her was relieved to share the burden of her secrets at last. It was not the way she would have wished for him to find out, but at least it was no longer tormenting her thoughts. With a bitter sigh, she turned on her side and allowed the approach of slumber. For good or bad, the truth was out there now, and she had nothing left to hide. Unfortunately, the truth made for some very lonely nights.

The remainder of Christmas break passed quietly. Snape was frequently absent, and Hermione had no wish to force her company upon him. They were professional...cordial, even...when discussing students or staff matters. The only personal conversations they held occurred when Snape appeared unable to stop himself dispensing some directive regarding her well-being.

Looking down, she examined her fingers, wiggling them beneath the Burn-Healing Paste he had wordlessly handed her that morning when she had once again filled their small kitchen with smoke. Her cooking skills were not entirely lacking: she could certainly follow a recipe and rarely burnt her dinner. It was the simpler tasks, like toast, that proved a challenge, especially when her mind was distracted and her thoughts unfocused.

A soft knock forced her attention away from her fingers. The students had returned, and the castle had come alive with activity. Vanishing the door, she was greeted by a roll of parchment nearly twice as large as the house-elf who stood clutching it, trembling.

"An owl is delivering this for you, miss." The elf's voice was so high, the windows rang. Hermione had never seen this particular elf before; she was tiny even by house-elf standards. A miniscule napkin hung from her small frame, brushing the floor with its frayed ends. There was a terrified look on her face, and Hermione guessed that an owl large enough to deliver the scroll could have easily carried her off for dinner.

"Thank you," she said, taking the parchment from her. "What's your name?"

The elf looked taken aback by the question. With a wary look, she squeaked, "Pitty, miss...with two t's."

"It's nice to meet you, Pitty," said Hermione, wondering how anyone could have thought the addition of an extra 't' improved the unfortunate name.

Pitty stared up at her with enormous, round blue eyes. Most of the house-elves at Hogwarts gave her a wide berth: They had not forgotten her childhood attempts to secure their freedom with poorly-knitted hats and socks. Although she had long-since abandoned S.P.E.W., she had come to realise that house-elves had excellent memories.

After a lengthy consideration, Pitty bowed her little head to the ground in greeting. Hermione didn't care for the subservient gesture, but she refrained from remarking, knowing it was futile to force her ideals onto others.

The little elf departed with a squeaky farewell, and Hermione took the parchment to the sofa. She unrolled it with a frown, cold dread pressing down upon her as she read the simple message within.

Last chance...

Like the previous post she'd received from the large eagle owl, a scrap of newspaper was rolled into the parchment. This one appeared to have been clipped from a Muggle newspaper: the text was boring and static. She picked it up with shaking fingers and read:

Stuttgart, Germany

A man was found dead in his flat in the Zuffenhausen district, the result of an apparent suicide. Authorities have confirmed his identity as 68-year old Mikolaj Brukowski, a recent émigré from Poland. Mr Brukowski was employed by Arglist Industries in Bøblingen, south of Stuttgart. No suicide note was found, but authorities have ruled out foul play. Mr Brukowski's only known relative was a brother who predeceased him in November.

The dread that had filled her turned into something else...something frigid and dark. It spread through her limbs, settling into the tips of her fingers as she sat staring at the cutting in numb shock. Hot tears burned her eyes but did not fall. She had many fond memories of Mikolaj Brukowski, and they flooded her mind, uninvited. He had been her mentor and guide for so many years, and she'd been honoured when he'd begun to treat her as a colleague. It was very hard to believe he had supported Lucius's plan to prevent Muggle-born births, and she suspected he had been duped, just as she had been.

Despite the revelation that Brukowski had encouraged her to consider the job at Arglist Industries, she held no censure for him. In retrospect, he had been acting oddly when he'd made the suggestion, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd been coerced. And it wasn't as if Brukowski had forced her to accept the lucrative offer. The decision had been solely hers. It had been her ambition...her avarice upon seeing the facilities and being offered such resources...that had convinced her, not the recommendation from Brukowski.

She tossed the papers on the table and held her face in her palms, unable to bear the words any longer. Although the authorities had deemed the death a suicide, she had serious doubts. The message on the parchment seemed menacing...was the accompanying story meant as a warning? At the Christmas Eve ball, Lucius had acted angry with the lack of progress in recreating her research. Had Brukowski been eliminated when he'd ceased to prove himself useful? Surely her gruff but loveable professor had not willingly been party to the type of selective genocide Lucius had proposed. Perhaps he had discovered the truth, and the knowledge had driven him to take his own life.

A wave of nausea swept through her when she contemplated her role in Brukowski's death. It was her research that had sent him to Arglist in Germany, whether he had known of Lucius's plan or not. Her work had officially claimed its first victim. She clutched herself tightly and leaned forward, squeezing her eyes against a rush of dizziness.

She did not hear the sound of Snape's footsteps, so she had no idea how long he'd been standing beside her. The feel of a hand on her back had her whipping up in alarmed surprise, grabbing for her wand, relaxing only when she realised who had touched her.

"Are you unwell?" he asked, referring again to the only topic he seemed comfortable to confer on.

"No," she replied. "I'm fine." If only the same could be said for Mikolaj Brukowski, she thought bitterly. Gesturing to the parchment on the table, she said, "I've received some disturbing news." Then she turned away from him and stared at her knees, deep in thought.

Snape seemed to hesitate; he shifted away but then returned. He was obviously having some sort of inner battle with himself, but Hermione was too lost in her own thoughts to pay him much attention. After several moments, and with an elaborately deep sigh, he sat next to her on the sofa, earning her attention at last.

"Tell me," he said.

Too surprised to speak, she handed him the piece of newspaper and watched his face as he read. She had sorely missed being able to observe him like this. Her eyes searched every line and feature on his face, looking for changes. When he finished reading the cutting, she handed him the parchment. His eyes narrowed when he scanned the brief contents.

Snape set the papers on the table and stared across the room. "I met Brukowski once, at a lecture. He seemed like a good man," he reminisced.

"He was," she confirmed. "At least, I always thought he was. We didn't cover ethics much..." She trailed off, thinking in retrospect how regrettable that oversight was.

"And you believe his research was related to yours?"

"Yes. Lucius said he was working to recover the notes and samples I destroyed when I left Arglist."

He seemed to consider for a moment. "This research of yours... it eliminates all Muggle-borns?"

She gasped and tried to explain. "No! I mean... it could, potentially. But that was never my intention!"

"What were you trying to accomplish with such research?" he asked.

She paused, feeling the old horrors washing over her. How could she possibly explain when she hardly understood it herself? The circumstances had changed so slowly...with such subtlety...she hadn't been aware that she was being led by a different, darker agenda. In the end, events had spun out of control so quickly she hadn't known how deeply she had been involved until it was too late.

Taking a calming breath, she said, "It began innocently, or so I believed. My initial projects were fairly straightforward. At university, I had used science to examine various potion elements on a molecular and sub-molecular level. My goal at Arglist was to take this one step further, by studying the effects of a potion within the biology of the witch or wizard who received it. Understanding the body's reaction helped us refine potions in ways we had never considered."

She watched him carefully for a reaction. After a moment, he said, "So you moved from experimenting with a potion in a cauldron to a potion in a person."

"Yes." She bit her lip, wishing she had realised at the time what a steep, slippery slope she had strung her tightrope across. "We achieved several successes, and I was honoured when we drew the attention of Henri Garnier, the Director of Arglist. It was Henri who insisted I tour the Muggle branches of Arglist with him. He explained their focus on pharmaceuticals...specifically, the research and development of vaccines. Henri tasked my team with discovering why Muggles are prone to illnesses that witches and wizards are immune to. I had thought we might one day create vaccines for Muggles based on immunities that exist in those with magical powers."

He frowned at her but said, "Continue."

She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Unfortunately, I never again stopped to question our direction. I accepted the twists and turns our research had taken as part of the inevitable process of discovery. One breakthrough led to another, and soon we were studying Muggle-borns, like me. Our genetics belie the possibility of immunities to Muggle diseases, yet obviously, they exist. That led to research on the Muggles who had given birth to magical children. Eventually, we isolated a gene that all Muggles have, which, given the right conditions, will produce magical offspring."

She paused and shook her head miserably. "I had completely lost sight of the original goal," she said. "In retrospect, it was a smokescreen anyway, but perhaps if I'd stopped to consider... If I had just once thought about what the results of research like that could lead to in the wrong hands."

She stood up and paced, the memories making her nervous.

In a small, bitter voice she continued, "But I didn't stop and consider. I celebrated my success and started the gene-mapping process, giddy with triumph, never once wondering where it all would lead."

Snape regarded her silently. She found his lack of speech more telling than any accusation. For the first time, perhaps, he could fully comprehend how horrific her actions had been.

"It was complete chance that I was in the lab when Henri brought in Lucius Malfoy," she told him. "It was the middle of the night; I'd just gone back for a notebook, and I recognised his voice. I hid from view and heard them discussing my research...how they could use it to create a vaccine that prevented Muggle-born births."

"You didn't know Lucius owned Arglist Industries?" he asked sceptically.

"Of course not!" she replied. "I never would have accepted the employment contract if I had known!"

"Didn't you investigate the company before you took the job?"

"I... I had met Henri Garnier, and I reviewed the Board of Directors," she offered. It sounded feeble, even to her own ears. In truth, she had only given the organisation of the company a cursory examination.

Her pacing became jerky as her feelings of stupidity grew. "I never saw any mention of Malfoy on anything."

He sighed. "Yes, Lucius has always been skilled at keeping his business interests private. And I suppose you would have required some level of suspicion before launching an investigation into the company's financing."

"I was naïve," she said, turning to him. "I should have questioned it. I should have questioned many things."

She returned to the sofa and sat next to him, clasping her hands in her lap and staring at them, unseeingly. "I was blinded by what they had offered me. My own lab, all the resources and funds I could ask for. It was more than I had ever dreamt of. I started out believing I could do something wonderful, but I ended up... a monster, no better than Lucius Malfoy."

Snape was quiet for a very long time, contemplating her. Finally he spoke. "I understand you find this disturbing, Hermione," he began, "however, I think the term 'monster' is a bit dramatic."

She shook her head. "But look what almost happened..."

"Listen to yourself," he interrupted, sounding impatient. "It almost happened. What did you do when you learnt of their intent?"

"You saw what I did...I destroyed the research," she supplied instantly.

"All that hard work?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course! I couldn't risk them recreating it somehow..." Her gaze trailed away from him, inexorably drawn to the newspaper cutting on the table.

She could feel his eyes on her as he said, "It's quite easy to be tempted by power. The abilities we possess require immense responsibility. The greater the power, the more difficult it can be to discern the line between right and wrong. Combine that with the invincibility of youth, and you'll find that few are able to resist discovering just how far their magic can be taken."

She considered his words, knowing they were spoken from personal experience, and she pondered the parallels that had sent them on their different journeys into darkness. They seemed to share an insatiable thirst to prove themselves, to validate their position in the wizarding world. In different ways, they had both allowed their quests for acceptance to blind them.

"Even the mighty Albus Dumbledore struggled with this," Snape informed her. "I'm sure Dumbledore would agree that while it is difficult to resist the allure of power, it takes even more strength to walk away once you've experienced it."

"Perhaps," she said, still uncertain.

"Did you tell anyone about this?" he asked.

She nodded. "I met with Kingsley, about a week later." She stared straight ahead, remembering. "I told him everything: the results of my experiments, Lucius's role at Arglist, what would happen if his goals were achieved." Turning to meet his eyes, she finished, "Then I told him how I'd destroyed everything when I trashed my lab and set fire to Garnier's office."

"And what did Kingsley suggest?"

With a dissatisfied shrug, she answered, "Not much. He was upset there wasn't any evidence of the research left to use against Malfoy."

"I'd imagine so," he agreed dryly.

"I don't regret that, Severus," she told him, passion forcing her voice to rise. "I had no choice. Even if I had given Kingsley everything I'd been working on, Lucius hadn't necessarily committed any crimes at that point... I had only heard him speaking of his plans."

He nodded. "It's doubtful such hearsay would have carried much weight."

"Exactly. And you know what the Wizengamot is like... How long do you think a trial filled with cutting-edge, scientific methods would have lasted with those old curmudgeons? It would have been nearly impossible to prove intent. And in the meantime, the research would have been exposed, unprotected...it could have easily fallen into the wrong hands. I trust Kingsley, but there was too much at stake to just hand it over to the Ministry."

She frowned at the almost wistful look in his eyes, but it was gone in a flash. With a sigh, she continued, "Kingsley was very kind. He pretended not to remember my confession of vandalism and suggested I put it all behind me and focus on a new life here at Hogwarts. He said the Ministry would keep tabs on Arglist Industries in general and Lucius Malfoy in particular."

His expression became guarded, but he offered no comment.

With another shrug, she added, "Kingsley retired the following year, and I have no idea what happened during the transition. Even if Gregor Ustinov knows about it, there's nothing he can do without proof. Until this year, I had thought...hoped...it was over for good. I should have known Lucius would never abandon his plans." She let her head fall forward into her hands and massaged her aching temples. "I've made such a mess of things," she said miserably.

She felt his hand on her back again. This time, she did not jump, although she was even more surprised by the contact than when he'd first found her. His touch was brief; in seconds, his hands returned to his lap, curling into loose fists.

After a moment, he said, "Everyone makes mistakes, Hermione. It's our ability to learn from them...to atone for them...that determines whether or not we're monsters."

She thought about his words for a long time. Had she learnt from her mistakes? Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that the regret she felt was enough to ensure she would not repeat her earlier errors.

Lifting her head, she peered at the piece of newspaper on the table. How could she ever atone for the mistakes she'd made at Arglist? A man had just lost his life, and she couldn't help but feel it was partially her fault.

Seeming to read her thoughts, Snape asked, "Why do you feel compelled to assume blame for everything?"

She straightened, looking at him in surprise. "I don't... not for everything," she said. "But Brukowski might not have been at Arglist if it wasn't for..."

He cut her off by saying, "Mikolaj Brukowski was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. You cannot be certain his death has anything to do with Arglist."

"I'd bet my wand on it," she said, her tone laced with bitterness.

He peered at the newspaper cutting, then his eyes slid to the simple statement written on the parchment. "Does this research pose any immediate threats?"

Closing her eyes in concentration, she considered his question. "I don't believe the danger is immediate, no," she said after a lengthy mental debate. "Lucius wouldn't be so anxious for my return to Arglist if he were able to recreate the research without me. I suspect he's been attempting to do just that for the past few years, yet he hadn't attempted to contact me until recently. He must have encountered difficulties; perhaps that's when he brought in Brukowski. But now that Brukowski is... gone..."

Her voice caught, and she couldn't bring herself to finish.

"I know someone at the Ministry who can be trusted. I'll ask him to look into Brukowski's death without bringing any attention to your role with the research."

She shuddered, hating to think her role had anything to do with someone's death.

"Even if his death was related to the research at Arglist, you cannot assume that you are responsible," he pointed out. "Stop blaming yourself for events beyond your control. You did the same thing when you realised I hadn't perished in the Shrieking Shack."

She knew he was right; she was prone to feel guilt over things other people might not think twice about. It didn't matter if her mistakes were accidental...the many sleepless nights she'd spent agonising over having broken Harry's wand in Bathilda Bagshot's house could attest to that. It was simply a facet of being a perfectionist; it was so ingrained in her psyche she would hardly know herself without it.

"I don't know why I react that way," she said. "How can I not feel responsible when there's a possibility I could have helped?"

"You always have to be the perfect little Gryffindor, don't you?" he asked with exasperation. "Just like Lily..." His voice trailed away.

Hermione was sure she hadn't heard him correctly. She turned to stare at him, but his attention seemed to be held captive by the elaborate pattern on the sitting room carpet. She didn't dare move...she hardly even breathed. After several seconds, she assumed he was not going to expound on his comment.

But then she saw his eyes shifting. Without turning his head, he glanced sideways at her and spoke. "There are times when you remind me of her," he said quietly, his tone begrudging.

His admission couldn't have stunned her more. "I quite clearly remember being told I would never be like Lily."

"I said you would never be her...not that you are unlike her," he clarified. He focused on the floor once more and curled his lip. "Although, given our history, I can understand how the difference might be difficult to appreciate. I've shown you how cruel I can be when I'm angry; it's yet another way in which I seem to be reliving my past."

"Oh," was all Hermione could think to reply with. She turned to stare at him.

"Why do you think I was always so hard on you when you were my student?" he bit out with an angry scowl.

"Because you disliked Harry," she answered automatically.

He didn't bother to argue the truth of her statement. "That's why I did my best to make his life difficult. But you..."

He gazed into her eyes, but he seemed unfocused, as if lost in memories. Then he looked away. "It was like watching history repeat itself. Another Muggle-born, sorted into Gryffindor. Another witch who excelled in her subjects...gifted with Potions...the brightest student of her age. Yet another wide-eyed innocent, destined to become Prefect and Head Girl..."

Bemused, she listened to him tick off the similarities between herself and Lily. The coincidence had never struck her before, but it was obviously something he'd given a great deal of thought to.

"... with appalling taste in friends," he finished, piercing her with a stern look. "Watching yet another conceited, attention-seeking Potter strutting through the halls each day was bad enough, but seeing you glued to his side was intolerable."

Hermione had no idea how to respond to this revelation.

Snape remained silent as well, and he seemed immensely uncomfortable to have revealed so much.

"I don't know what to say," she told him.

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"I know I will never be Lily... Truly, I don't want to be," she explained, shaking her head. "Nor would I want to be a substitute for her memory."

"You're not," he said. The frown that creased his brow made her wonder if he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

"Your differences far outweigh your similarities," he supplied. Looking away, he continued, "Lily never forgave me for insulting her."

Having witnessed his memory of Lily's ire, she knew the detriment caused by that simple act. "Are you punishing me for her rejection?" she asked, incredulous. Her indignation rose as she considered the possibility. "Or are you testing me...seeing how much I will take before I cease to forgive you as well? Is that what you've been doing?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, although he looked uncertain. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Her sigh of relief seemed to surprise him. Despite the many remarkable things he had told her tonight, she thought this most recent statement was, perhaps, the most promising.

"Well, that makes two of us," she said.

They sat in silence for several moments. Neither seemed sure of how to proceed, yet there was no rush to separate. After several minutes, Hermione said, "You didn't think I was gifted with Potions when I was your student."

"True," he agreed at once. "But I can name only three second-year students who could have brewed a successful Polyjuice Potion: myself, Lily Evans, and, it would seem... you."

She looked away, a different kind of guilt creeping into her mind.

"I cannot believe you had the temerity to steal from my private storeroom!" he said, sounding appalled but perhaps a bit impressed.

Although the crime had occurred more than twenty years earlier, she still blushed over her blatant disregard of the rules...rules that had been so precious to her as a child. "It was important," she said, trying to excuse the infraction. "We had to find out if Draco had opened the Chamber of Secrets!"

He snorted at her reasoning, surprising her by laughing out loud. She had missed hearing the sound of his laugh, missed their teasing banter. Too quickly, though, his smile faded, and he grew serious once more. They withdrew into their private thoughts, and after a few moments, he stood from the sofa.

She knew the bonds of trust between them...as delicate as primrose dotting the hills in spring...had been trampled by his fear and anger, muddied by the footfalls of her mendacity. One conversation could hardly erase the damage they had done.

But it's a start, she thought.

"You realise, of course," he began, turning to look down at her, "this school has no statute of limitations on stealing."

Her head snapped up, and she found him watching her with a sly smile.

"I believe you've just earned yourself a month's worth of detentions, Miss Granger," he advised in that achingly familiar, sultry voice. He seemed to be studying her face closely, keenly alert as he slowly held out his hand.

She stared at his fingers, her pulse quickening. His hand was mere inches away, but the chasm being bridged by the simple gesture was greater than any measurement could quantify.

"Severus," she breathed, taking his hand as she rose from the sofa.

He drew her into his arms, hesitantly, perhaps waiting for her to push him away. When she didn't, he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her with a restraint that made her wonder what demons he was fighting, what internal struggle made him hold back and push for more at the same time. She deepened the kiss, a bit tentative, feeling as if they'd been apart for years rather than weeks. Everything was new again. The same, yet different.

"No more secrets," she whispered after their lips parted at last.

A bleak expression crossed his face, and she wished she hadn't reminded him of her recent trespasses. His features were twisted, but he said nothing. Instead, he crushed his lips against her mouth. His earlier hesitation was gone; whatever battle had raged in his mind had been decided. She was swept away by the intensity of his kiss, lost in sensation and the sudden need for release.

A/N: Many thanks to my amazing betas, little_beloved and ladyinthecloak, as well as my lovely Brit-picker, lettybird. I greatly appreciate the feedback I received on the last chapter; thanks to everyone who left a review. I enjoyed reading the diverse opinions and engaging in further discussions with those who left comments on my LJ. My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter...I've had squee-worthy out-of-town guests but will try to have an additional chapter uploaded prior to Christmas..