Part Three

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

Many thanks to Alliean for the alpha read and sirsevchick for beta-ing this for me.

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Part Three

Murderer... Snape felt like a murderer. He felt like a cold-blooded killer, with no hopes for redemption. He looked at the Daily Prophet and saw the Muggle house that he had been to just the day before, with the Dark Mark hovering above it. Tearing his eyes away from the moving photograph, he made a fruitless attempt to eat his breakfast.

He remembered his conversation with Albus when he had finally returned, sporting a tortured mind, soul, and three broken ribs. He had told the Headmaster everything, letting him see in a Pensieve the memory of killing the girl.

--

'Severus, you couldn't do anything more for her. You did the best that you could, considering the circumstances,' Albus said softly.

Severus simply nodded and left the round office quietly.

--

Could have gone worse his arse. An innocent girl was dead, and he had killed her. How the hell was he supposed to feel; happy because he put her out of her misery? How could any sane person be pleased with himself for taking another human life? She couldn't have been more than twenty years old.

And what made the whole thing worse was that Dumbledore thought it was just lovely that he escaped barely harmed after murdering an entire Muggle family. Was he bloody insane?

Giving up on trying eating anything, Severus instead picked up his Prophet and left the Great Hall.

Hermione watched as Snape left the hall silently, without dramatically thundering through the door or whipping around his robes. Instead, he had simply rigidly opened it and left without a word. He had been extremely quiet since his return from the Dark Lord's Summons the afternoon before, and it was beginning to worry her. It was as if he had become depressed somewhere in between breakfast and lunch.

She knew that there was probably more to it than just showing up somewhere and becoming a dark, brooding mess, but he didn't say anything to her. He wouldn't even look at her in the eye, or at all for that matter.

She sighed and finished off her breakfast quickly and left the Great Hall so that she could finish her last minute preparation for her class of seventh-years first up. She had decided with Snape the night before that she would be teaching the seventh-, fourth- and second-year students, while he took care of the other classes.

She walked into the dungeon classroom and waved her hand over the blackboard, and the instructions appeared. She also set up her demo cauldron at the front desk and began to prepare the base for the potion she was going to make. After it had simmered for a good ten minutes, she added the rest of the ingredients and left it to simmer on the lowest heat once more.

'I take it you are ready to begin teaching today?' asked a cold voice from the door.

Hermione spun around and looked at Snape, who once more had averted his eyes so that he didn't have to see her properly. 'Yes, will you be sitting in on this lesson?' she asked with a small hopeful smile. This might be her chance to prove herself to him.

'Perhaps,' he answered, before turning and walking away.

Hermione exhaled the breath she had taken and looked sadly after him. He seemed so empty and lost, as if the old snarky Professor had deserted him and had turned him into a shell, dirty and broken. Empty. And there was no pleasant, happy person filling that space either. There was nothing.

She went to the desk and flipped through her notes until ten minutes later, when her class finally arrived. She called them in and stood by her cauldron as they took their seats. She saw Harry and Draco sit with each other and spared them a quick smile, and then saw Ron at the back of the classroom, on the opposite side from Harry, scowling.

She sighed sadly. She hadn't meant for any of their friendships to be ruined by this apprenticeship, but it was Ron's own fault for his attitude.

'Today, you will be making a very complex potion, and you will have to be careful. Please come to the front of the classroom, and we shall begin,' she said as nicely as she could.

She saw Snape enter the classroom and take a seat at the back, and felt suddenly self-conscious. The class, however, had surrounded her now and was peering into her cauldron.

'Can anybody tell me what this potion is? As soon as somebody answers, you may all go and start to make the exact same potion yourself,' she said quietly.

Neville's hand, to her surprise, shot up into the air. 'Madame Apprentice, I think that is the Muscle Relaxant Potion,' he said unsurely.

'That is correct, Mr. Longbottom. Ten points to Gryffindor,' she said, smiling at him encouragingly. 'Now that you all know what it is, go search it up in your text books and make it. I want a sample from each pair by the end of the lesson,' she said seriously. 'Mr. Longbottom, you can pair up with Mr. Weasley for this lesson.'

Snape nearly fell out of his chair when she said that. Was she trying to kill Weasley? Maybe she was? He didn't know, and he was going to assume that she was having a disagreement with this particular Weasley, but it didn't bother him if she was.

He watched as she skillfully took charge of the class, and encouraged Longbottom, instead of yelling at him. The result was no explosions and a sample of the potion from everyone by the end of the lesson. He was amazed at how quickly she had taken to teaching. In a few days, he would have to introduce her to his private work, and be forced to hear out her ideas.

'Professor?' said a small, feminine voice near him.

Snape looked up and saw that the classroom was empty. Hermione was on the other side of the room, with an armful of papers.

'Yes, Miss Granger?' he answered reluctantly.

'Could you please help me?' she asked, giving him a pleading look.

And then he saw it all in his mind, the young Muggle girl on the ground, crying, begging him to kill her, a green flash of light, blood, a dead, cold set of brown eyes looking up at him lifelessly.

'No!' he cried, closing his eyes and trying to get it out of his mind.

The images wouldn't go away, and he looked up at Hermione who was looking at him scared. He rushed out of the room and towards his chambers and, upon reaching them, went to the bathroom and threw himself to the cupboards, searching for the blade as the images of the morning before kept flashing through his mind.

He found the knife and drew it along the flesh of his wrists, up his arms, his chest, until he couldn't feel the pain or see the images any more. He felt numb and cold, and before he knew it, he was leaning over the toilet bowl, retching what he had most recently eaten into it.

It had never been like this for him before.

--

Sometimes, having a long term memory served as a burden and a pain, as opposed to being a memory bank for those memories that are cherished and wanted. Severus didn't have any of those frivolous and happy memories. All he had was a shady upbringing in a wealthy family, a few terrible pranks played on him at Hogwarts as a student, the unwilling activities performed while he was a loyal Death Eater, the life of a spy, and now, the murder of an innocent girl.

She had still been pure when he had killed her. She had been untouched, untainted, pure and whole flesh that had been corrupted by one well-aimed curse. He was surprised to know that there was even a youth living on the planet that had not succumbed to the lure of the flesh.

But he had witnessed that miracle, and had destroyed it, all in one morning. Severus looked down at his torn flesh. He really did need to find a better outlet than the cutting, but he honestly couldn't help it. He hated wallowing in self-pity, but it seemed to be an activity that he had been engaging in quite frequently of late.

He could see nearly all of the ugly pink scars that he had left, not completely healed, as a reminder of what he had done. He would most likely have at least ten scars for each life he had taken.

Severus couldn't take it any more. He needed to get out of the castle for a while. Being in his room was beginning to send him stir crazy, and it had only been a month since the beginning of term. He felt pathetic. If it hadn't been for that blasted child, he would be the same sadistic bastard that usually resided in his body. Where had that bloody lunatic fled to?

He walked out of his bathroom and grabbed his wand, healing the wounds so that the marks would still remain there. He would need to take a Blood Replenishing Potion before he left. He always lost so much blood when he did it. He drank one down quickly and rolled his white shirt-sleeves to his elbows, and unbuttoned the shirt around his neck. He needed to breathe.

Not really caring if anybody saw him, but doubting that anyone would, Severus left through the side door and walked towards the Forbidden Forest to a spot at the side of the lake that he often sat at to think. He didn't care that the edges of his sleeves were spattered with his own blood. Who was going to see it anyway?

Even Albus didn't know of his cutting problem, and he wasn't about to tell the meddlesome old geezer. He approached his peaceful escape before he heard a muffled sob, followed by a painful groan. There was somebody there. He looked around the tree, to find Hermione Granger, sitting there, arms wrapped around her knees, with tears streaming down her face.

He looked at her with a pained expression. He did not like the girl, no. But he did feel a strange sympathy towards her that was most uncharacteristic of him. Professor Snape could not just feel towards any person. But maybe Severus could, just this once.

He stepped from behind the tree and sat down abruptly next to the emotional 19-year-old. She looked at him in mild surprise, the tears still spilling forth from her eyes. She just gaped at him for a moment, taking in his profile roughly.

'Professor... I am sorry, I know I shouldn't be out here, but I –' she stammered helplessly.

'You're not a student any more. You may do what you wish during your free time,' he said bluntly, not bothering to put on the sympathetic act quite yet.

Hermione didn't say anything to him after that. Not because she didn't want to, but simply because she could not find the right words to say. It was then, during her silent scrutiny of him, that she realized that he was not wearing his black frock-coat, or his cumbersome black teaching robes, or any of the other layers between the atmosphere and his skin apart from white shirtsleeves.

She saw the top buttons were undone, and the sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. So this was how Snape dressed on weekends, when nobody else could see him. She had often wondered if he was always so strict with his wardrobe.

And that was when she spotted it. His skin was normally like alabaster; however, that night it was stained with pain. The numerous pink and red scars, which looked to have been fairly deep cuts, marred his wrists and arms. There were honestly too may to count.

'Professor, I... what happened?' she asked, sniffing, but having a pretty good idea that it was not just an accident.

'Are you alright, Miss Granger?' he asked, ignoring her question.

'Yes, I'm fine. Just some friend troubles really. I was just being silly over some trivial and pointless matters,' she replied, waving it of and drying her face. 'What happened to your arms, Professor?'

'Have you ever wondered why it is that I wear so many layers of clothing, Miss Granger?' he asked conversationally, his voice suddenly picking up in tone.

Hermione looked at him feeling thoroughly confused. He truly was just a shell of the man who had once been demanding and harsh, but in the best sense of the words.

'Not really,' she lied. 'But I will listen to you if you tell me why.'

'I have many scars on my person that are not very nice to look upon. I am not a self-conscious fool, but I like my privacy. And scars are some of the things that I would prefer remained private in my life,' he drawled with a hint of his old self. 'Do you understand that?'

She nodded mutely, afraid to speak and drive the man away. She didn't want him to leave. Not when he was like this.

He turned to face her, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Bringing an arm forwards, he thrust it towards her and allowed her to examine the angry red and pink marks, some were puckered from the deepness of the wound that he had inflicted upon himself.

'You are an emotional one, Miss Granger, and I am going to make the assumption that whenever you are frustrated with a situation, you cry about it,' he stated bluntly. 'Am I correct?'

'How did you know that?'

'Nobody has ever seen my arms or any of my other scars before,' he commented dryly. 'You are the first, and the last. I would prefer if you did not speak of it to anyone. I trust you to keep this private.'

'Of course,' she hurried to assure him.

'I know that you cry when you are frustrated or upset, because I am the same. Except, when I feel that way, I do not cry,' he answered to her earlier question.

Hermione gazed up at him expectantly. 'What do you do?' she asked softly, letting her fingertips trace the scars on one of his arms in wonder.

He extended both arms out to her, and opened his hands, palms up. He was exposed to her, completely and totally. 'I do this,' he answered simply.

She gazed at his arms and saw all of his sorrow and sadness. She swore that she could almost see his drunken father slap his across the face, or beat him senseless. She could see the beatings his mother endured. She could feel the anger at having to kill, and taste the blood.

The hot tears began to sting the corner of her eyes again as she felt a fresh wave of emotion wash over her. Except this time, it was not for herself, or for Ron, or for any of her ruined relationships. It was for the man sitting in front of her, totally exposed, and baring his soul. It was for the courageous man who fought the war and spied for the light. It was for the hurting man, and the empathy she felt in her heart for his pain.

She sighed and shifted, moving forwards to encompass Severus Snape in a tight embrace, for her gratification as much as his. She needed the contact, and she had a feeling he needed it too. To make up for all of the times he had not been touched with a tender hand.

And they both simply sat there, not friends, and not really liking each other, but needing to comfort each other in a way that had no words. They simply held each other and drank comfort and much needed sympathy.

Severus had honestly never felt this cared for in his entire existence.

--

Hermione Granger was a problem. The problem with her was that Severus just didn't know what to think about her any more. She had gone from being a self-important little girl, who lived to boss people around and be the teachers pet in her first year. And in her second year, she had been a troublesome, sneaky thief, whom he never caught because he didn't have any evidence against her, before she became Petrified of course.

In her third year, she had been the annoyingly ambitious girl, with the Time-Turner permanently attached to her hand. That year had proved to be one of his more physically painful experiences with students. He had been blasted with the same hex from Hermione, Potter and Weasley, and thrown against a wall, unconscious.

When her fourth year arrived, she had become a little nicer to look upon. Not the average, typical kind of beauty that once could see just anywhere, but the elegant, inner kind. That was, until he had upset her with his remark about her over-sized teeth being "no different" and she had become a banshee again. And again in her fifth year, she had been an annoying little chit, especially when forming the DA with Potter, and causing general mayhem around the castle.

The year before, in her sixth year, she had been the regular little know-it-all that had constantly peppered him with bothersome questions. And now this year, right now, he didn't know what he thought. He didn't really like her.

Maybe he respected her just that little bit more, because of the way she handled herself as a teacher and apprentice, not even going easy on her friends. He admired her ability to separate personal life from work the way that he did. She had also insisted and made him promise to her that he would go to her if he ever got the urge to cut himself again, and they would talk.

He had made the promise, but he had no idea how to go about keeping that promise. He seldom made promises, and was unpracticed at keeping them; although, he had been more himself since holding her almost one month before.

He could hardly believe that it had been an entire month since he had found her crying beneath his cover of trees by the lake. It had always been his sanctuary, but now it was their shared one.

'Professor Snape, are you here?' called a sweet, feminine voice from just beyond his office door.

Speak of the devil herself. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, while deciding whether he would answer or not. Maybe it would be worth it?

'Yes, Miss Granger, come in,' he answered with impatience.

Hermione poked her head through the opening at his door and slipped into the room, pulling the door firmly shut behind her and dropping a pile of papers onto his desk. She smiled at him, and sat in the chair opposite him.

Unlike Severus, who had been enduring an internal war over his feelings for her and the current identity crisis, Hermione was aware of who she was and knew exactly how she felt about her former Potions professor, and current master. She had hated him, disliked him, become irritated and annoyed with him, grudgingly respected him, respected and defended him, considered him a friend of sorts, and now - - well she liked him more than was appropriate for an apprentice to like her master.

'Afternoon, Professor,' she said cheerfully.

He merely nodded in acknowledgement, and looked at her with indifferent eyes. 'Is there something you wanted to discuss?' he asked curtly.

'Well, actually, there are many things that I have been dying to ask you, but I'm afraid that you'll bite my head off if I actually get around to it,' she answered with a sheepish grin.

He pinned her with the most Snape-like glare she had seen in a long time. She was almost tempted to walk over to him and kiss the scowl off his face, but resisted for the sake of her better judgment. Actually, that was the most normal thing she had seen him do in a long time, and even she was hesitant to remove the signs of his improvement.

'Halloween is in two days,' Hermione commented off-handedly, trying to steer the conversation to something slightly more pleasant.

'Mmmhmm,' Snape mumbled in response, turning his attention to a stack of essays on the corner of his desk. They had to be marked some time, what better time?

'Will you be at Hogwarts for the ball?' she asked conversationally.

He nodded. 'Unfortunately, Albus asked me to be there as a chaperone. He'll do anything to get me to attend such frivolities,' he said with a heavy sigh.

Hermione laughed a little, which earned her a curious look from Severus. The girl was up to something, and he could sense it. He might be suffering, what she liked to call an identity crisis, but he was not that far gone that he couldn't sense subterfuge.

'Okay,' Hermione replied, nodding.

'Miss Granger, is there something that you want? Because I am beginning to think that you may have had ulterior motives to come and coax something out of me,' he asked in exasperation.

Merlin! The girl could be positively irritating. She was running circles and skirting the subject. Just like a doddering old geezer he knew.

Hermione smiled. 'Well, actually, Professor. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to be my escort to the ball. Its masquerade this year, you know?' she asked with all of her Gryffindor boldness before it eluded her.

Snape felt his heart throb its way up his throat and make him feel extremely uncomfortable. He swallowed hard, and looked at Hermione with confusion.

'Did I hear incorrectly, or did you just ask me to attend the ball with you?' he asked, completely dumbfounded. How did the girl always manage to render him so incapable of coherent speech?

'I did exactly that, Professor. And I will be requiring an answer to that,' she added thoughtfully.

Snape gave her a wary look and tried to focus back on marking the essays. He had never been confronted like this by a person in his entire life. 'What exactly would the terms of this escort be?' he asked, not bothering to look at her.

'It's not a date, Professor. It is simply a professor escorting his apprentice to a Halloween ball as a friend and colleague,' she said in confirmation.

'Alright,' Snape answered in resignation, although it sounded a lot like a date to him. What on earth was the girl up to?

'Great! Now we just have to discuss our costumes, because it would look a bit daft if I showed up wearing red on the arm of a man clad in green. We'd look like a Christmas decoration,' she said quickly.

'I only wear black,' he said quietly.

'I've noticed that. Perhaps you could try a different color, just for the night?' she asked in a voice that pouted in itself.

'Or, perhaps, Miss Granger, you will oblige to wear black for me this night, and I may feel obliged to return the favor and wear a different color some other occasion?' he replied back seriously.

Hermione shrugged a little and smiled. 'I think that could be arranged, but only if you let me get your mask for you,' she bargained tactfully.

Severus could see that he was never going to be the winner of this particular argument, and submitted. At least he would be wearing black. He really didn't fancy many other colors, and they only ranged from near-black greens, dark grays, and navy blue. All of the colors were fairly straight forward and simple.

Just how he liked it.

Hermione stood up from her chair and collected the papers she had brought with her from her desk and went to the door, only to turn back at the last moment and smile. 'Thank you for your time, Professor,' she said brightly.

As soon as she had left the office, it went eerie and cold, as if Hermione had just taken the warmth with her. Severus sighed and rested his face in his hands. He was going to have to find a good suit before Friday then.

By then, he might be ready to accept the fact that he was indeed, going to the Halloween Ball with Hermione.

--

A/N - Yes, Snape is still going to continue to be emotional for a while longer. The root of his depression is from all of the guilt he feels over murdering innocent people.