Two

Wow! I received way more response than I could have hoped for! I hope that the story continues to be enjoyable for y'all.

And many thanks to the lovely magicalpresence, who has kindly offered to beta for me. She's been wonderful! Fantastic advice and very kind support and encouragement.

Peace and joy,

Kristine

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable as J. K. Rowling's is hers. Not mine. I own very little.

The next few days were as meaningless as the ones that came before the summons. Potter had escaped and they were all just biding their time again. Waiting for a battle none of them could control.

Maybe this was what war was like for civilians. Severus hadn't experienced that so well the first go-round. He had been a loyal, willing foot soldier for the Dark Lord, casting curses and destroying homes as if it were his greatest pleasure. It had been, for a while.

Each piece of wood he had splintered then helped distract him. Red hair and green eyes mocked him in every memory, tearing at his heart until he believed that there was nothing left to it. But when he had been doing the Dark Lord's work he could rest his mind in the familiar comfort of Dark Magic, no matter how it had pulled at his soul. What good was a soul, anyway, when Lily Evans had broken his heart?

It certainly didn't matter now.

He couldn't blame her for it, not really. It had been his own choices that had driven her away. Severus knew that now.

If only he had known then what his life would become. Babysitting lazy minds in a castle that hated him. Serving two Masters and losing his free will entirely. Bound to a job that he despised and a reputation that kept him alone.

Maybe he would never have called her a Mudblood.

The Headmaster's Office felt empty now, deprived of the whizzing and clinking noises that Dumbledore's possessions had continuously bothered him with. The room held little other than the necessary furniture...a desk, some chairs, the Pensieve cabinet. It was easier to clear his mind this way, living an environment so like the one constructed in his mind. It made the emotion easier to dismiss.

A stack of papers sat on his desk, mail from the past few days. He had ignored it long enough, he supposed. Some of them might have been from the Easter Holidays. He didn't often actually sort through his post. It was a waste of time. The only two people he actually needed to communicate with did not use owls.

Several of the envelopes were immediately chucked into the fire. A missive from Dolores Umbridge was laid on his desk. He would, unfortunately, have to read that one. Others were sorted into a "might think about reading later if bored" pile, a few more burned in the hearth.

He almost missed the last envelope, small as it was, but the Black Family crest caught his eye. Was Narcissa angry at him about that last meeting? That wasn't his fault and she knew it. Sighing, he broke the seal and pulled a torn scrap from the envelope.

It was most certainly not a letter from Narcissa Malfoy.

The hiding place of Hermione Jean Granger is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Please, sir. Hurry.

The parchment burst into blue flame, but no ashes fell to his desk. The letter simply dissolved into nothingness. Severus looked at his suddenly empty hands, stunned.

They had found a way to remake the Fidelius Charm, and judging from the small, neat handwriting on the letter, Granger was her own Secret Keeper. It didn't make much sense, of course. Setting a Fidelius was difficult, but breaking one already in place without the consent of the Secret Keepers? Even the precocious Miss Granger couldn't pull off that level of spellwork.

If, by some stroke of dumb luck, she had managed to pull off that bit of dubious magic, then an even greater mystery remained: Miss Granger was under the impression that he needed to know the Secret and needed to visit.

Why tell him? Hadn't she just escaped the clutches of Death Eaters?

"I assume, from the blue flames, that the letter is from Miss Granger?"

Severus turned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Not really," Dumbledore confessed. "The world is still far too interesting for me to sleep just yet. I still haven't found out what my Chocolate Frog card says now that I've passed."

"Oh, yes. We've all been holding our breath to find that out."

He chuckled. Albus Dumbledore chuckled. Severus managed to keep his eyes from rolling in exasperation. The man was impossibly dotty, even in death.

"Blue flames have always been a talent of Miss Granger's. I trust you remember her first year?"

"Insufferable girl burned a hole in my only cloak. Of course I remember."

Albus merely nodded, obviously waiting for Severus to reveal the note's content. He was no Gryffindor, too proud to ask for help, but he was still reluctant. Saying things out loud made them real.

"It seems that Miss Granger has replaced you as a Secret Keeper. And that she wants me to visit."

"What were the specific words, Severus?"

"T...the hiding p-p..." His thin lips bumbled over the address, effectively proving that Granger had worked the Fidelius correctly. "She gave me the address. And then said 'Please, sir. Hurry.'"

"You should be going, then. I doubt Miss Granger would use the word 'hurry' so lightly."

"And what exactly would I find there, Albus?" His voice stayed level, but he knew the old man knew just how... un-level he was with this letter. Confusion and uncertainty had never sat well with Severus Snape. "Potter, Weasley and Granger, wands drawn and ready to avenge you?"

"What was the last news we heard of them?"

"You know perfectly well what I told you last week."

"Ah, yes. Captured in Lucius's home, managed to escape just before Tom arrived. Bella didn't mention anything about what happened during the children's stay at the Malfoy home, did she?"

Severus smirked. "She was rather busy with the groveling, but he mentioned that they had a fake Sword of Gryffindor. How they managed to fool Bella with a goblin present is beyond me, but there it is."

Dumbledore folded his hands, eyes focused on something in the distance. "They brought the Sword to the Manor."

"I've told you that," Severus answered, trepidation seeping through the walls of his mind.

They were silent for a moment, both men deep in thought.

"Severus?" The former Headmaster's voice was worried.

"Yes?"

"If Madam Lestrange caught them with a sword she thought had been in her vault..."

Sirius Black had managed to levitate ice down the back of Severus's collar once. Sitting still in Transfiguration as the cold trickled down his spine had been one of the most unpleasant feelings he had ever endured. A sort of teasing torture that tormented with the smallest sensations.

Severus could almost feel the freezing water dripping down his back now as he calmly stood up and turned the chair back toward the desk.

"Headmaster Black?"

"Yes, Headmaster?" replied the reedy voice.

Severus faced the Slytherin's painting.

"I assume that your other portrait has not yet been returned to its proper place?"

"No. The Mud..." Phineas huffed at Severus's stern look. "Muggle-born still has me in that enormous bag of hers. Insolent witch."

"I see." Severus walked to the fireplace. "Kindly inform the Professors Carrow and the Heads of House that I will be out of touch for the remainder of the evening, but that the staff meeting will still take place tomorrow at eight o'clock. Time is of the essence, Headmaster, and it would be appreciated if you do not attempt to explain my absence. It is nobody's business but my own."

"Of course. A good Slytherin keeps his secrets close at hand, Headmaster Snape," came the cackled reply.

The portrait was empty when Severus looked up to it again. He looked down the wall at his mentor. Dumbledore nodded his reassurance.

Drawing his wand, Severus grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the flames. He muttered his destination and stepped inside the hearth.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had never been a pleasant smelling place. The years of neglect had given it an unmistakable stench of decay and the house-elf's substandard service had allowed the build-up of a vast array of offensive odors that had attacked Severus each time he had set foot in the miserable house. He had believed it a fitting perfume for the home of a flea-ridden dog.

Stepping out of the fireplace this time, however, brought an entirely new assault on his senses. Severus felt his stomach clench at the smell of filth, vomit and disease.

"Homenum Revelio," he muttered.

Only one other person in the house, then...a very weak person at that. And a house-elf.

At least it wasn't an ambush.

Crack!

The withered body of Kreacher appeared before his first step fell.

"Headmaster must wake the Muggle-born." That wheezing cough the elf called a voice sounded surprisingly concerned. He was cleaner than Severus had ever seen him, wearing a neatly pressed towel and, oddly, a silver locket. The room was cleaner, too. What had happened here?

"Is she asleep?"

"Not asleep," Kreacher croaked. "Not awake." One long, bony hand clenched a rolled parchment, the other a crystal vial. He thrust both fists toward Severus. "Muggle-born says Headmaster is to have these."

Severus took the elf's offering. "Where is Miss Granger?"

The house-elf said nothing, but his ears twitched before he turned to hobble to the foyer. Severus followed behind without a sound, remembering the shrill portrait of Mrs. Black. He had never personally set the woman off, but Nymphadora Tonks had demonstrated the woman's profound ability to screech insulting nonsense often enough to satisfy Severus's curiosity.

Something else awaited him in the hall.

"SEVERUS SNAPE?"

He should have anticipated something like this. Something in the magic made him think of Lupin, but if he were being honest, he was just desperate for this to be a Marauder's prank. It would be much easier if it were.

The apparition's accusing gaze burned Severus to the soul.

Well, at least that proved he still had one.

Thin, knobby fingers pulled at his arm, yanking him away from the form of Albus Dumbledore. Severus couldn't help it; his eyes remained glued to the wispy thing even as Kreacher pulled him up the stairs.

"I didn't murder you," Severus half-whispered, half-moaned, his boots clumsily clattering against each step.

The form of Dumbledore nodded and the spell broke.

The house-elf still pulled him, though Severus was able to watch where he was going now. Kreacher guided him down the second floor to the small bedroom across from the library.

The stench that had assaulted him as he stepped from the Floo was at its full strength here. Had he been the delicate Lucius Malfoy, he would have pulled a scented handkerchief to his nose. Had he been the indomitable Molly Weasley, he would have known the spell to banish the odor from the room.

But he was Severus Snape and he endured the smell.

When Kreacher opened the door, he let his breathing become shallow. It was easier to breathe that way. He tried to identify the smells. Sick, filth, and infection were obvious, but there was something else in the air that Severus could not place. Above all the other scents in the air, this was the one that made his stomach clench.

He had just begun to commit the smell's effects to memory when his other senses took over.

The cold air felt heavy and moist. It sucked the heat from his skin much as a Dementor sapped the life from its victim. He wondered if a Dementor might be preferable to this.

Severus took an involuntarily deep breath as he yawned. His muscles moved of his own accord, drawing the sick air into his mouth until he could taste the room. All of the mold and the vomit and the nastiness that pervaded this room now rested on the back of his tongue. He retched.

There was a pitiful hissing sound coming from the bed on the far side of the room. It was labored and uneven, high-pitched and soft. The girl wasn't breathing well.

Good. That meant that his involuntary yawn had only been a yawn and not a manifestation of a spell to force him to draw in bad air. He focused on his own breathing, returning it to a serviceable shallow pace, keeping his mind guarded and sharp.

He almost lost that control when he finally saw Hermione Granger.

Later, if he was being honest with himself, he would admit that he had been deliberately avoiding looking at her for as long as he could. He didn't want to see, didn't want to face what Bellatrix Lestrange was capable of.

Oddly, it wasn't the cuts and bruises that drew his eye first, but the way her cheekbone rose high above the side of her face. She had lost weight this year while running from Death Eaters. Running from him. Briefly, he wondered what she ate, what she could have found in places like the Forest of Dean. He didn't remember Potter or Weasley looking so thin then, but now, it was the first thing his mind could see about Granger now.

She lay on her side on a dusty bed, facing the door. There was a dirty blanket draped over her...by Kreacher, no doubt...but she shivered still, her body quaking in the cold. Her mess of hair had been pulled back into a braid at some point, but strands of it had escaped, leaving her hair to look as wild as it did unbound. It wasn't the worst he'd ever seen her hair, Severus supposed, and it wasn't altogether unattractive, splayed out over a pillow as though she were in bed for a completely different purpose.

Over the past seven years, Severus had endured hours of Minerva McGonagall preening over the fine, strong witch Hermione Granger would become one day.

Looking at her now, Severus finally believed it. This was a different person than the girl Severus had taught. Even asleep, there was a hardness in her face that had never been present at Hogwarts. Her fingers were dangerously close to the wand lying next to her, ready to hex at a moment's notice. There was something unmistakably powerful about this tiny, sick thing and Severus didn't know what to make of it.

Kreacher tugged at his arm. "Headmaster must wake the Muggle-Born. She must complete Master Regulus's mission."

"Master Regulus's mission?" the question had left his mouth before his mind had formed it. Regulus Black had a mission? The boy had been dead for years, killed by the Dark Lord himself if the rumors are true. Some said he was trying to usurp power for himself, but Severus had never believed that of the younger Black son. Though as arrogant as his brother, he had never been someone that Severus would pin as power-hungry.

Still, he had to have done something to deserve death at the Dark Lord's hand. The Dark Lord had been pleased to announce that Regulus had died, something about the price of disloyalty. There had been so many over the years. It was hard to keep track.

The house-elf tugged at his arm again, this time pointing to the letter and vial Severus still held. "Muggle-Born said to give Headmaster those. Said that it would answer questions."

He looked at the items in his hand and back to the woman across the room. He took in her translucent skin, lined with tiny red welts and cuts. There were bruises blossoming on her neck, bruises in the shape of a woman's long fingered hand and a large bite. Something seemed off about the color of her skin.

Severus nodded at the elf and sat down at the chair by the head of the bed, setting his wand down on the bedside table. Slipping the vial in his pocket, he opened the letter.

He immediately recognized Granger's handwriting. It was small and meticulous, but easy enough to read. How many times had he seen it cramped into the last inch of parchment?

This writing, however, was far more uniform than even Hermione Granger could attempt without magic. It had been dictated, then. Had she lost control of her hands?

With one last look at the sleeping form beside him, he read the letter.

Headmaster Snape,

Anyway, we got away, can't tell you where, but we did get to safety. When we were there, we started the process of healing. Our hosts fixed the Stinging Hex I placed on Harry and healed Mr. Ollivander and Luna's cuts and bruises and such. Dean seemed to be okay and Griphook wouldn't let us do anything so we supposed he was fine too. Ronald managed to escape with a small cut, but it was easy to mend. His injury was more emotional than anything. It hurts him to see me hurting. He fancies me, you see, and I think he feels resp...

That was no shock. If possible, Weasley had even less subtlety than Potter.

Nevermind, it's not his fault. If anybody was responsible it was me! I should have known better!

Madam Lestrange? How she could remain so proper when under such pressure was astonishing, though perhaps in character for the girl. She had always been respectful to him as her teacher.

...threw at me. I lost count after the one Furnuculus Curse, a couple of mildly thrown Sectumsempras, and the third Cruciatus. I do remember something purple and fiery, not quite like what Dolohov threw at me in the Department of Mysteries, but similar. It had more pink to its color and there were tiny sparks flitting through the flames. It was pretty, in a way...

I don't think I remember all that was done to me. Not all of my injuries are accounted for. I pulled out the memory and placed it in a vial. I hope Kreacher understands that I mean for you to have it. I hope it helps.

Ah, the vial. He would have to wait until returning to Hogwarts to find out what damage had been done. He glanced back down at Miss Granger and lifted a wand toward the blanket. Pulling it back slightly, he could see the remnants of the torture. Boils that had been diminished to angry scars, Sectumsempra cuts that still stood open, the bruises on her neck, and this close, he could see a spiderweb of silver-blue, twisting about her bare shoulders, neck and face.

What was that?

So that was Master Regulus's mission, defeating the Dark Lord. No wonder he'd been killed.

This is where you come in, I suppose.

So that's what that was. And working with the house-elf? Clever move, really. Unorthodox, but it worked.

There are other wards on the house. You should be able to Apparate and use the Floo (It's still unregistered, but I hid it. A combination of a Confundus and a Fidelius charm. I think being so incapacitated and somewhat delirious has pushed me to take risks and to invent spells. I hope they're holding.), but no Portkeys. There's also a protection against unintended magic from an unconscious person. Kreacher helped me with that. I don't want to accidentally burn the house down.

I'm sure you still have questions I haven't or can't answer, just as there are many things I'd like to ask you. What in the world made you create Sectumsempra? You must have really hated someone for that. And in your sixth year, too! So clever, brilliant spellwork, really, but wow... you had to have been so angry.

Severus nearly dropped the parchment at that. Of all the questions that must be rattling through that mind of hers, that was the one that slipped to the Dictaquill?

Bother. I'm sorry about that, Professor.

I hope Dumbledore was right.

"So do I," Severus murmured.

He folded the parchment and placed it in his pocket before picking up his wand. A quick spell pulled the blanket off of her. Not knowing what the silver lines were made him cautious; touching her could be risky for them both.

Severus watched, fixated in horror, as her skin was revealed inch by inch. She had only worn her underthings to bed, for which he was grateful. He didn't know if he had the resolve to undress her, not when every spare bit of her skin was marked by something that shouldn't be there.

Bella had done her finest. Hermione Granger would forever be her masterpiece.

A heat radiated from her that had nothing to do with the fever chills shivering down her spine. Her hands trembled and her muscles convulsed, rippling beneath her marked skin. The boils would scar; there was nothing that could be done about that now without the proper balms and those would react badly with treatment for Cruciatus. He had no idea what the blue lines were, but the cuts he could heal.

They were his fault, after all. A curse he never bothered to teach people to heal. He should have taught someone.

After a precautionary antiseptic spell...he had smelled infection...he stood over the bed, letting his wand flow over her body. The tip of it glowed with a pale gold light as he began the song. The words didn't matter as much as the intent; he had never sung the same song twice. But as he sang, Severus focused on his regret for her harm and his hope that it could be undone.

The first time he had healed Sectumsempra, it had been an accident. He had been perfecting wand movements for the newly-minted curse and had been shocked to see his mother's cat suddenly sliced and bleeding. A young, frightened Severus had knelt over the poor thing, his wand shaking as he tried to remember a healing spell. He sang that stupid lullaby his mother had always hummed, desperately trying to comfort the cat in what was surely to be its last moments of life. Remorse had poured through the song and, just as now, the tip of the wand shimmered with light and life.

Severus watched as his song stitched up the cuts on her body. She had been lucky Bella hadn't been too forceful with the curse. The wounds were shallow enough to keep from permanent harm, though her previous hosts must have had to spend their whole store of Blood-Replenishing Potion to help her stay alive. She was still pale with the blood loss and dittany would have been preferable, but the unknown silver web kept him from touching the girl. She would just have to deal with the scars.

He yawned as the last of the slices mended; the stasis spell was doing its work. He would have to leave soon. Looking over Miss Granger, he noted again how filthy the bed was.

"When was the last time you cleaned this room, Kreacher?"

The house-elf quivered under his glare. "Kreacher cleaned when the Muggle-Born first arrived. Kreacher was told not to touch anything until the Headmaster came."

A growl formed deep in his throat. How long had that letter been sitting on his desk before he opened it? The stupid girl should have at least told the elf to clean the sheets. If the curses didn't kill her, infection would.

"Keep the room cleaned. Don't touch her, but make sure the bed is cleaned, sheets changed. Is that clear?" The elf didn't move, obviously trying to figure out whose orders took priority. He angrily waved a hand toward the bed. "If you don't keep this clean, she'll die. And put a night dress or something on her."

Kreacher nodded and bowed, nose touching the floor. Good. That was taken care of.

A third yawn pried his mouth open. "The room will be spotless when I return," he commanded.

"Of course, Headmaster," Kreacher croaked, bowing lower still. With a small pop, the gnarled little elf disappeared, leaving Severus alone with the girl.

He turned to look at her one last time. Healing the cuts would help the situation and the boils had been healed well enough to pass for now, but the blue-silver lines twining about her body worried him. It wasn't often he came across a curse he did not recognize. Severus did not want to think on what would happen if he couldn't figure out what had been done to her.

Raising his wand, he levitated the blanket over her too-thin body and let it fall slowly. He watched the fabric drifted into place, mesmerized by the way it fluttered about her form, conforming to all the little curves and lines that made up Hermione Granger. He tried to ignore the pessimistic poisons flooding his thoughts, hateful words telling him he'd be the last to see her alive, the last to hear her shallow, uneven breaths.

Severus closed his eyes, focusing on the cold, empty room of his mind. His emotions and doubts settled behind thick walls, hidden even from himself. With deliberately even steps, he left the room and went downstairs. Thankful that the apparition did not manifest itself again, he walked to the fireplace, closed his eyes, and Flooed into the cold, empty office he called home.