Time Cannot Erase...

She could hear muffled words... a horrible reptilian hiss... a blood-curdling scream...

... a resounding thud as something heavy fell to a dust-covered, dilapidated, wooden floor... a horrible gurgling sound, as if someone was dying... choking to death on their own blood...

Wait...

...someone was.

Hermione looked on in abject horror as Professor Snape lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, his life's blood pouring from the viciously torn skin at the junction of his neck and jaw – a mortal wound... an almost certain death. Harry and Ron were there beside her, their eyes wide with fear and disbelief, but she paid them no mind. She had eyes only for the trembling, gasping man before her. Her teacher of near seven years, a man she had always had great respect for – despite his reputation, despite the rumors and speculation – was dying before her very eyes.

She watched as his life gurgled and pulsed from his body – the shockingly red essence saturated the once pristine sleeves of his robes and stained the pale skin of his hands as long fingers clasped desperately at the horrible, ragged gash that bisected his flesh.

She barely registered the fact that the Professor was trying to speak to Harry... that one of his blood-stained hands now grasped desperately at the front of her friend's tattered shirt. She hardly noticed the silver-blue, mercury-like liquid that was flowing from the dying man's eyes, ears, and mouth. She didn't remember conjuring a tiny, glass flask and then handing it to Harry. What she did remember – as she watched the blood start to pulse more slowly over the long, pale fingers, and the light in the fathomless black eyes start to fade – was sending Harry and Ron on ahead, assuring them that she would be right behind them.

They left reluctantly, and she turned back to the now motionless form before her.

He could not be dead. It was simply not possible. "It's not fair, dammit!" Hermione cried.

As her mind failed to process that the man before her was gone, she found herself desperately searching for a solution, however impossible. She gasped, cursing her own stupidity as a realization suddenly swept over her. A tiny ray of hope sprang anew in her chest as she started frantically undoing the buttons of Professor Snape's ruined topcoat. Her fingers were slippery with blood and made for slow going, so she found herself ripping desperately at the fabric, sending the round pieces of ebony skittering across the floor of the Shrieking Shack as the buttons ripped violently from their moorings.

Surely he had seen this coming. Surely a man as brilliant as Severus Snape had been prepared for just such an event... for the inevitable betrayal of a madman...

Hermione reached inside the coat, forcing back tears as her hand came into contact with fabric still warm from his body heat. She searched the lining, feeling for the telltale outline of the tiny flask that she knew was there – it must be... it had to be...

There!

Her fingers brushed over the elongated lump in the right, inside breast pocket. She pulled it out and popped the cork. Moving quickly, she tilted the lifeless man's head back and forced the vial into his mouth, pouring the green liquid down his throat, praying that there was still some small spark of life left in his motionless body.

When the phial was empty, she stuck it in her pocket and waited for something – anything – that would tell her she had succeeded, that she was not too late.

She waited. She prayed. She held his cold, pale, blood-stained hand, wishing him back from the edge of death. It was not his time. It couldn't be.

Despite his seemingly cruel persona, she had had faith in this man for quite a while – ever since her fifth year when she found out he was a spy, a double-agent working for Dumbledore and the Order. Even after the events of the last year – after he had supposedly murdered a man that many had thought of as the touchstone in a dark and violent world – Hermione knew with all her heart that this man lying before her was no cold-blooded killer. She could not say how she knew such a thing, but she would bet her life on it.

So she willed him to come back... willed him to live. She screamed his name to the darkness; she pounded her bloody fists against the fabric covering his chest; she called him a coward and a bastard for leaving them just when they needed him most.

Nothing.

After ten desperate minutes, Hermione hung her head, wiping the tears from her blood-streaked face with a shattered sob.

She had failed.

The antivenin was delivered too late.

Professor Snape was dead.

She placed a hand on his chest, between the lapels of his torn overcoat, and caressed the soft white linen of his shirt.

She spent several long minutes whispering sorrows and regrets, heartfelt apologies and admirations, knowing that no one but she would ever hear them. She said a silent prayer to whoever was listening, asking them to watch over his soul in the afterlife.

At least he would finally find peace.

Finally, after brushing his dark, lank hair back from his eyes, Hermione knew that it was time. She would join her friends for the finale... for better or for worse... for the end.

She liked to think that she and her former teacher were good acquaintances by now, perhaps even friends. She had felt that it was her responsibility to look in on him after everything was over, seeing as how she had technically saved his life. The fact that it had been she that had cared for him for the first few months of his stay was a subject they did not speak of.

Professor Snape had lapsed into a coma almost immediately after being brought to St. Mungo's, and the first time Hermione had been able to really visit – about two weeks after his arrival – she had been shocked at his appearance. He was thoroughly untended: his hair was overwhelmingly dirty and – to Hermione's utter horror and disbelief – still matted with dried blood, and his face hadn't seen a razor in weeks.

The rest of him was no better. Hermione suspected he hadn't been bathed since his arrival – the poor man reeked of stale sweat, old blood and general uncleanness. His gown, sheets, pillow, and blanket were all filthy and stained – with what, Hermione did not care to find out – and the whole room literally swam with the pungent smell of neglect. Surprisingly, the bandage around his neck looked well-tended, although it was soiled with a small amount of dried blood. She huffed indignantly – other than making sure he didn't outright die from sepsis, the healers and staff obviously had no interest in the well-being of a murdering Death Eater.

The anger Hermione had felt rising within her was frightening. She had exited her former teacher's room, wand in hand, and made her way to the nurse's station just down the hall. She politely asked to speak with the Healer in charge of the Professor. When the smug little witch behind the counter had told her that he was unavailable, and would be for quite some time, Hermione had nodded demurely... and put the tip of her wand between the woman's eyes.

"Now," Hermione said calmly as the woman went pale, "I would like to speak to the Healer who is overseeing the care of Professor Snape, and I would like speak to him now." The mediwitch's mouth tightened stubbornly. A few red sparks from Hermione's wand changed the woman's tune, and she was soon running down the hall in search of the Healer, batting frantically at her delicately plucked, now-smoking eyebrows.

When the Healer finally arrived – a short, balding man wearing bifocals and looking utterly harassed – Hermione let into him. She offered up her many varied and colorful opinions on the state of the patient in question. The nurse and Healer both blushed fiercely at some of her more vivid statements. She promised that the entire staff would have their licenses revoked and would be spending several long years in Azkaban if something wasn't done... immediately. She did have friends in high places, after all.

After a good ten minutes of verbal lashing, in which a small crowd had gathered to watch, Hermione finally told – yes, told – the Healer that she would be taking over the job of caring for Professor Snape. The mediwitches would have minimal contact with him, and the Healer would see him only as necessary. After procuring directions to the supply room, Hermione had stormed off to get started. She realized with a small wave of sadness that it had been far too easy for her to take over the man's care.

"What do they know, anyway... ignorant bastards," she mumbled to herself as she gathered the needed supplies.

So it was that Hermione's one time visit had turned into a daily ritual. Not too long after that, news of Professor Snape's miraculous survival had spread. As expected, there was much speculation over the dark wizard's true loyalties. That all changed, however, when to the utter surprise of everyone – Hermione included – Harry Potter had stood before the Wizengamot and attested to the man's innocence. That was all it took. If The Boy Who Lived Twice – the Chosen One – believed Severus Snape to be innocent, then he was. End of story.

Hermione had always known in her heart of hearts that he was innocent, but to hear the entirety of the British Wizarding world proclaim it from the hilltops, as it were, set her soul at ease. Perhaps the Professor's life would be different now. Perhaps he could be happy.

One evening, as she was changing the bandages on his neck and talking to him about the current events of the day as she always did, Professor Snape had groaned and slowly opened his eyes. They were filled with a disconcerting mix of fear and confusion as he took in his surroundings. Finally, his frantic eyes had focused on her. She had smiled at him and quietly explained what had happened over the past month – his exoneration by the Wizengamot and how she had been caring for him. Slowly the fear bled away, leaving only confusion, and perhaps a bit of relief. Being too weak to speak or protest in any way, he had simply closed his eyes and allowed her to continue.

Hermione was concerned at his demeanor, which was uncharacteristic of the man she had known – or thought she knew – for the past seven years. Her happiness at his awakening overrode her concerns, however, and she continued on.

Now, six months later, Hermione had another reason for visiting. She had something for the Professor – a gift from the Wizarding world itself.

"How are you today?" she asked as she moved to sit in 'her chair' at his bedside.

He cut his eyes at her for a moment before answering. "Miserable. Just as I was when you asked yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that..." He tossed the book unceremoniously onto the bed, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the pillows with a resigned sigh.

Hermione watched him for a moment. He had recovered almost completely since that night in the Shack. Aside from the occasional dizzy spell – which he had been told was only due to his lack of exercise and would pass as soon as he became active again – he was doing brilliantly. In truth, he actually looked better than he had beforehand. He had filled in a bit and no longer looked deathly ill. The dark bags under his eyes were gone due to regular sleep, and his hair – which he had let grow to just past his shoulders – was now shiny and clean from regular washing. His complexion was no longer pale and sallow – Hermione had been utterly shocked when she realized that he actually had olive-colored skin. She supposed that a lifetime of dark dungeons and nighttime espionage hadn't given him much chance to linger in the sun. More than once, she had caught herself thinking that he was a rather attractive man, if in an unconventional sort of way.

The only outward sign that anything was amiss was the bandage around his neck. He would be scarred for life, but he was alive. A fair trade, if she said so herself, which she did on the rare occasion she caught him staring morosely into the mirror, fingering the puckered skin which bisected his jugular and carotid. He mostly did it when he was bored, as he was now. Hermione sighed; surely he would be released soon. He was well past the point where St. Mungo's could help him.

Knowing he needed a bit of cheering up, Hermione pulled her reason for visiting out of her bag. "Well, I have something that may cheer you up." She held out a red velvet box. His brow wrinkled as he looked first at the box, then at Hermione. "Go on," she said softly, "open it."

Slowly, he reached out and lifted the box from her hands. He set it on his lap and paused a moment. After some internal debate in which the furrow between his brows deepened and his mouth opened and closed several times, he opened the lid. There, sitting on a cushion of red velvet, was an Order of Merlin, First Class. The gold medallion stood out in stark contrast to the red of the box. It shone brightly in the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the room's single window.

Hermione watched as Professor Snape ran one long, pale finger around the edge of the medallion, tracing over the swirling calligraphy of his inscribed name. "There's supposed to be a big ceremony and everything, but Harry talked them out of bothering you. He didn't think you'd like all the attention." He nodded slowly, and she could have sworn she saw his eyes start to shine, but he blinked and the moment passed.

"Thank you," he said finally, before gently closing the box and setting it on his bedside table.

That he made no cutting remark about the award's color scheme – blatantly gold and crimson – warmed Hermione's heart. He must truly be touched. "You deserve nothing less. Actually, you probably deserve a hell of a lot more, but you know what they say about beggars..."

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "Yes, I do know what they say. I suppose I should simply be grateful that it is not a posthumous award." He watched as her face flushed slightly and she looked down at her clasped hands.

An awkward silence settled in. He made to speak after a moment. "Miss Granger, I..."

There was a curt knock at the door a split second before it opened, allowing a maroon-robed mediwitch to enter.

"What in the bloody blazes is it now?!" Severus demanded caustically.

The witch huffed, her brown eyes flashing with genuine dislike of the man before her. "Professor Snape, you are cleared to leave. Here are your discharge papers. Sign where indicated and you're free to go." The mediwitch handed him the thick ream of yellow parchment and left as quickly as she had entered.

"Thank Merlin," he said, running a hand over his face in relief.

"That's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, watching as he retrieved a quill from the bedside table and starting signing immediately. He simply grunted at her in reply.

Such was his nature when he was involved with something. He reverted to one word answers, or in this case, grunts and gestures.

She watched him for a few moments before speaking. "Well," Hermione breathed, "do you need... I mean... would you like any help... getting home?"

"No thank you, Miss Granger." He continued to frantically sign the parchment before him.

She was unabashedly disappointed. "Well, then... I guess... I guess I'll just leave you to it."

As she stood to leave, she felt an overwhelming sense of loss wash over her. This couldn't be the end, not after they had spent so much time together. Hermione laughed bitterly to herself. What did she really think would happen? Did she think that he would be discharged and immediately declare undying devotion and love for her simply because she had come to care for him...

What?! Oh fuck... her mind screamed.

She felt her face flush at this sudden revelation, and before she knew what she was doing, Hermione had leaned towards the Professor and placed a chaste kiss on his temple. When her flesh touched his, her lips tingled madly and her belly writhed with an strange, unfamiliar heat. "Good day, Severus. I'm happy for you," she whispered quickly before heading for the door. Just as she was reaching for the handle, he spoke.

"Hermione..."

She looked back over her shoulder, mildly surprised at his use of her first name. "Yes?"

He set his quill down and crossed his arms over his chest, appearing uncomfortable with what he was going to say. "While I do not think I require any assistance in getting home, I would like to... show my appreciation for all... for your..." he sighed, unsure. After a moment, he spoke. "I would like to express my gratitude for your companionship and for the fact that I am still here, as it were."

Hermione smiled genuinely. "You don't have to thank me, Professor. I couldn't let you die... whether from snakebite or from utter boredom."

The corners of his mouth lifted again. He spoke the next words slowly. "Be that as it may, I would still like to thank you properly. Would you... would you come to my home tomorrow evening? It is not much, but I'd like to cook dinner for you, if that is acceptable?"

Her stomach fluttered in excitement. "Of course, Professor. I'd be delighted... if you think you're up to it, that is."

In a rare show of light-heartedness, he chuckled. "Hermione, after six months in this hellhole, I'd sell my soul to simply heat my own tea."

She laughed. "Alright, but only if you're certain."

"Very. How does 8:00 sound?"

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape greeted. He held the door open and motioned for her to enter. He was casually dressed, for him at least, in a pair of black slacks and a simple black button up. His hair was pulled away from his face and secured at the base of his neck with a leather thong. Hermione thought that it suited him as she allowed him to help her out of her cloak.

"How are you?" she returned as she watched him hang the length of blue wool on the peg next to the door. She gazed pointedly at the bandage covering his neck.

"I am as well as can be expected. You?" He gestured towards the door to their left, motioning for her to precede him.

Hermione walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with books. A cozy fire crackled in the small hearth. It wasn't a large place, but it seemed cozy enough. "I'm fine," she said, rubbing her arms, "if a bit frostbitten. This weather is freezing!"

"Indeed it is. Please sit." He motioned to the sofa in front of the crackling fire. "Would you care for something to drink: tea, wine... perhaps something stronger?"

"Oh, um..." She had never really had anything stronger than butterbeer. "I'll try a glass of wine, please." He nodded and moved off to another adjoining room. Her stomach fluttered as she watched him walk away, noticing how his trousers hugged the trim line of his waist.

Stop it you stupid girl! He's a grown man! He would never even think of you that way... let alone do anything about it! her inner voice screamed at her.

Why should she be so nervous? It was only Professor Snape... Severus. They had become friends these past months, hadn't they? Surely she wasn't afraid that he would harm her?

No... it wasn't that.

As she waited, Hermione took a moment to be completely honest with herself. She was... attracted... to her former teacher. In ways that were neither decent nor honorable. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of her thoughts of late: her darkest fantasies involved nothing more than soft sheets, a warm fire, and... him. Long, agile fingers touching her in places no man had ever touched... her cries of ecstasy mixed with his guttural moans as he made love to her... him saying her name as he spilled himself inside her... his muscles taught as iron, her legs wrapped around his waist in a vice grip, his lips...

"Miss Granger?"

She jumped. "Oh... God... I'm sorry! Just wool-gathering." She took the proffered glass of red wine. "Thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. "May I inquire as to the nature of said 'woolgathering'?"

She blushed furiously as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa, his own glass in his hand. "I'd rather you didn't."

He nodded and stared off into the fireplace, taking a slow sip of his wine. Hermione's tongue came out to wet her lips as she watched his own wrap around the rim of the glass. He swallowed, and she watched his Adam's apple move up and down. She looked away quickly, lest her thoughts become apparent.

"So," she said after taking a long, fortifying sip of her own drink, "what will you do now?"

"Now?" he asked, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. He took another slow sip of wine.

"Well, now that you're no longer... you know... now that... he's dead." She dipped her head when he didn't answer right away. She thought she had offended him.

After a moment, he softly said, "I don't know."

Hermione looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "I mean that I honestly have no idea what I want to do with my life. I've been someone's whipping boy for so long that I don't know where to start."

Hermione nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. "What about teaching?"

He huffed. "Perhaps. Things would certainly be different now that I don't have to coddle the ignorant children of my brethren."

"Brethren?" she asked, sipping the red wine once more.

"Death Eaters, Miss Granger. Don't let it escape your mind what I once was... or still am."

She gave him a resolute look. "You haven't been a Death Eater in twenty years, Professor."

"Is that so?" He set his glass down on the side table. Hermione grew very still as she watched him roll up his sleeve. When he finished, he held his left forearm out to her. "Explain this, then."

The Dark Mark – though slightly faded and blessedly unmoving – still stood out in stark contrast against his skin. Without thinking, Hermione reached out and ran her fingers over the skull and serpent, tracing it's weaving pattern down his forearm. "What is there to explain?" she asked.

With slightly hooded eyes, he watched her fingers trail down his skin, leaving a trial of goosebumps in their wake. "Why is it still there?" he asked softly.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. He's only been truly gone for six months. Perhaps it will fade even more with time... maybe even disappear completely. Even if it doesn't, it's just a reminder of the past."

"One that I would like to forget," he said softly as he rolled his sleeve back down.

"We all have our scars to bear, Professor. Even me."

"I doubt that."

She sat her glass down on her own side table. "Look," she said as she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse.

"Miss Granger, what..."

"Here." She pointed to a long, angry looking scar running across her collarbone and sternum. "Department of Mysteries in my fifth year – I was cursed."

He shook his head. "Impulsive, reckless children, the lot of you."

"You saved our lives that night."

He shook his head. "No. I saved the boy wonder's life... the rest of you were only happenstance."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter – you still saved us."

He cleared his throat. "Well, you're welcome."

Hermione laughed as she rebuttoned her shirt.

When she had finished, he stood and held his hand out. "Shall we eat? I'm starving."

"What?"

"Your neck... the bandage..."

He reached up a hand to feel tentatively at the white gauze. Sure enough, a small circle of blood had soaked through.

"Shit..." he whispered.

Hermione pulled out a chair. "Here... sit."

Surprisingly, he obeyed, pressing his hand to his neck as he told her where to find the supplies she would need to redress the wound. She collected them, and after washing her hands, stood over him and carefully removed the soiled bandage. There wasn't much of a wound left, but what was there had managed to bleed a bit. "It must be the alcohol," she stated softly.

"Yes, that must be it."

With a warm, clean cloth, she gently wiped away the blood. After adding a bit of the ointment the Healers had sent home with him, she placed a new bandage on top. A few pieces of surgical tape later, and everything was in order.

"Thank you," he said as he felt tentatively at the new dressing.

"You have some blood on your face," she said off-handedly. He sat motionless as she reached up to wipe the small stain from his cheek. When she touched his face, he reached up and grasped her wrist gently. "Professor, wha..." Her words were cut off when he pressed his lips gently to the inside of her wrist.

Her eyes closed and she felt that unfamiliar but welcome heat return to her belly. When she didn't protest, he kissed a soft line up the inside of her forearm. Her other hand came around to trace the contours of his face before running slowly back through his hair.

His free hand moved to her leg, and moved slowly up the outside of her thigh. Still, she did not protest. As his hand came to her waist, he removed his lips from her arm and looked up at her. His eyes were hooded, the pupils dilated. Instinctively, she stepped closer and settled herself in his lap, feeling a bit uncertain as her hips came to straddle his.

His hands moved to her face as hers ran through his hair. The thong was pulled loose and his dark locks fell around his shoulders and face.

Sanity and common sense were no longer a part of her world. "Please," she whispered, "kiss me."

He did.

Any fantasy she may have had about his kisses was lackluster compared to the real thing. His lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of the wine they had consumed earlier. They weren't overpowering, but instead sought acceptance, which she eagerly gave. When the tip of his tongue swiped gently over her mouth, she opened slightly, cautiously giving his own lips a tiny lick.

Hermione could feel what she was doing to him and was emboldened by his reactions. He was pressed hard into her inner thigh, and she moved her hips instinctively. Snape groaned and grasped her around the waist, pulling her more firmly against him.

Now it was her turn to groan. Her vocalization seemed to bring him back to reality a bit. He gently broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, cradling her face in his hands. "Miss Gra...... Hermione... I'm sorry... I should not have..." he started to say.

"Professor... Severus... please..." she begged, unable to deny herself any longer.

There was silence for a moment, in which he pulled his face from hers and looked into her warm, pleading eyes. Hermione expected him to tell her no, but instead she found him asking, "Why?"

"Why not?" was her equally unexpected reply.

He smiled softly. "You are so young, so innocent, Hermione. I could not take that innocence from you." She whimpered and rolled her hips. His breath caught in his throat. "No matter how much... I may want to."

"Severus, please..." she whispered against the skin of his jaw. "Please... for one night... let me show you how much I care for you... that I'm not just some little girl with a crush."

"No... not a little girl... a warrior," he said as she kissed the soft spot below his ear. "A friend..." he said as she kissed his jaw. "A savior," he said breathlessly just before he took her face in his hands and kissed her mercilessly. Months... years... decades of withheld emotions poured from his lips to hers. Never in his life had he been free to express this furious passion... this desperate need to touch another in such a way – without fear of pain or humiliation.

Before Hermione could form a coherent thought, Severus' hands were lifting her, carrying her up the stairs. His bed was soft as he gently laid her down, covering her body with his. He kissed her for a while longer before pulling away and brushing her wild hair out of her eyes. "Have you ever?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated, wondering if she should lie, but knowing that he would realize the truth soon enough. "No," she whispered softly.

His head fell heavily to her shoulder. "Hermione, I don't think..."

She lifted his face to press her forehead to his. "I want this, Severus. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I... I care for you. Please... let me show you."

"There are other ways to show such things, Hermione. You have shown me many of them in the past six months."

"I know that... but this is how I choose to show you now... please..."

He raised his head and looked into her eyes again. Hermione thought she would be happy for the rest of her life, if only he would continue to look at her in such a way. When their lips met again, Hermione felt her heart burst. The river that swelled forth was one of disappearing fabric, soft caresses, and firm muscles beneath satin skin. He brought her fantasies to life – she remembered the barest pinch of pain as he pushed into her that first time, but it was quickly replaced with a pleasure so great she thought she might black out.

She tried to move with him, but she was inexperienced and had to rely on him to do most of the work. They didn't say much, letting their bodies say what words could not express. When finally her climax came, it was so unexpected that it sent tears down her face. Severus held her to him as his own climax overcame him. They fell limply to the sheets, bodies spent, trembling and covered in sweat.

They lay there in the light of a single candle, his body partially draped over hers, her hands running up and down his back. When he finally spoke, it was only to say, "Beautiful," and caress her face before falling exhaustedly into sleep.

She dressed quickly, wondering where Severus could be. After searching the house for him and waiting much longer than she knew she should, Hermione finally determined that he wasn't coming back, at least not while she was there. Tears of hurt, anger, and betrayal coursed down her face as she finally stormed out, cursing him and her own naïve stupidity.