Hogsmeade, May 1998

A/N's: Canon characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, and I make no money from them. Thank you to Justice for plot discussions and associated beta-works.

Hermione stumbled back through the tunnel, anxiety and a dose of Invigoration Draught giving speed to her progress. Nearing the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, she extinguished her light and made her way by feel alone. She paused and listened. Hearing no sound, she whispered, "Lumos," and crept cautiously into the room where she had last seen Professor Snape.

Time had been irrelevant until Harry was whisked away to the hospital wing to be thoroughly examined by the ever-practical Madam Pomfrey and Ron joined his family to move Fred's body to the designated morgue. Hermione had chosen that moment to quietly slip into the background. She would fulfil the silent promise she had made on the way out of the Shack. If I live, I will come back.

Between bouts of silent tears, his eyes nearly wild with remorse, Harry had told her a little of what he had seen in the silvery strands of memory Professor Snape had given him. Harry had not been merely goading Riddle – he'd been telling the truth. Hermione clenched her teeth. If only she had listened to her intuition, maybe she could have let Professor Snape know not everyone in the world believed he was evil incarnate. Maybe he would have let someone help him and he wouldn't have...

"Please don't be dead," she whispered.

In the musty gloom, she spied a candle stub on a shelf clinging improbably to the wall. Lighting it, for light of any sort was a comfort, Hermione moved cautiously towards her former Potions master. She stooped to pick up his ebony wand, tucking it into her sleeve alongside her own. Kneeling by his side, she felt for a pulse, a breath, anything to give evidence he was still alive, but found nothing. Suddenly overwhelmed and completely at a loss as to what to do next, she sat cross legged on the floor, staring blankly into space. She was vaguely aware of her surroundings: the wind picking up outside, wuthering – that was the only word for it – against the decrepit walls of the Shack, making them groan softly in protest. It was the loneliest sound she had ever heard. That sound – and the scent of dust, mould and drying blood – would leave an impression on her soul she was sure would last forever.

A quick movement in the air had her on her feet and facing the source with the lightning speed only adrenalin can give. She gave a cry of amazement as a fiery form swooped into view.

"Fawkes?"

The phoenix approached in a rapid glide, slewing towards her with a graceful dip of one wing. The bird back-winged in several powerful strokes, hovered for a moment above the motionless wizard, and dropped lightly onto his chest.

"You are Fawkes, aren't you?"

The phoenix tilted his head and gazed at her. Hermione had the sensation of being minutely studied by someone who was slightly amused.

"Okay, I believe you, you are Fawkes. It's just that nobody has seen you since D..." Her words faltered as she remembered who Fawkes was sitting on. Perhaps it was not the best thing to mention. Fawkes ruffled his feathers importantly. "I haven't seen you since last year, I thought you'd gone for good, not that you ceased to exist or anything. Nobody knew where you'd gone. Where did you get to anyway?" Wonderful, she thought, I'm babbling to a phoenix.

Fawkes listened intently, though not to her. He moved further up the wizard's chest and tugged at the firmly buttoned collar. Fawkes looked up at her, making a small noise that sounded like a question.

"You want that out of the way, do you?" Hermione was sure this was what the phoenix meant, though she was not sure she actually wanted to do it.

Fawkes turned to face her and raised his head feathers a little. Bird body-language signifying mild annoyance.

"Alright! I'll get on with it." She applied herself to the task, gently peeling layers of fabric from the congealed blood. It did not seem respectful to be anything but careful. After what seemed an interminable time, she had the wound exposed. Fawkes nudged her out of the way and scrutinised the injury with all the gravity of a master Healer. Hermione hardly dared to breathe as the phoenix let two tears fall. Suddenly he straightened, smoothed his feathers, and began to sing.

Severus looked up at the ruinous archway and the tattered curtain hanging restlessly within it. He walked around the arch, examining it from all angles. He didn't like the look of the steps that led down and disappeared into bottomless shadows. They reminded him of the stairs to the dungeons, where he had spent most of his life. He'd been as good as a prisoner in the dungeons of Hogwarts. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it in that way before. He fidgeted where he stood; something was attached to him and he couldn't see what it was. It pulled a little, somewhere deep inside, giving a sharp tug if he went closer to the archway, as though warning him not to approach the crumbling structure. Severus listened. On the very edge of his awareness he could hear a faint whispering. He turned his head to locate the source. He took several steps towards the arch. He ignored the relentless tugging sensation and strained to hear the voices.

"I assure you, Lily, there was no other way."

"Oh, yes. Of course. I know absolutely nothing, do I? Using someone who is unwilling, deceived, or both, Albus, is absolutely the best way to break a dark power." Lily's voice was dripping sarcasm.

"The dark will always challenge..." Albus began wearily.

"Probably because some who rise to the challenge use methods like yours!"

Severus winced as these last words were shouted. He had seen Lily in a fighting rage before, and he did not envy Albus at all, nor did he feel sorry for him.

Lily hadn't finished yet. "I heard what you told Harry, 'that part didn't work out, poor Severus'. Poor Severus? That's all you had to say about him? He risked his body, mind, and soul for you, and I know you taunted him about his feelings. Oh, don't look so beleaguered, Albus."

"Severus knew what he was getting into, Lily, from the moment he joined the Death Eaters to the moment he willingly agreed to spy for the Order. Severus willingly vowed to protect Harry, as well as he could in the circumstances. He had his own motivation, as you know, for desiring Riddle's defeat. To that end, he displayed remarkable single-mindedness. My intention was for him to take the Elder Wand..."

"You intended that Harry should kill him?" Lily interrupted in dangerously cold tones.

"Lily, think about it. Supposing that part of the plan had worked? Severus would not have killed Harry, his promise to your memory would not let him. Mind you, there would have had to be some minor skirmish for Harry to truly claim the Wand. I doubt very much Harry would have killed Severus, even if he thought he wanted to. Disarmed him, Stunned him, perhaps – nothing a visit to the Infirmary couldn't fix. I cannot see your son using an Unforgivable if one was not used against him first. Remember, Lily, Harry had every reason to see Pettigrew dispatched, yet he persuaded Sirius to stay his hand."

"So, if that part of your plan had worked, Severus would still be alive? Albus, why didn't you tell him?" She sounded sorrowful now.

Severus stood up, realising he had been crouching before the shifting curtain with one hand on the cold stone of the arch. Was he dead? He didn't feel like he was. It was not as though he hadn't prepared himself, and he had been rather proud of his modifications to the anti-venin, even if it did make him feel horribly sick. He could discern shapes moving beyond the curtain. One of the shapes drifted closer to where he stood, and Severus clearly heard Albus' next words.

"Who says he's dead? He was forever assuring me he had a plan, though I would make bold to suggest that my plan may have had a less painful outcome."

Severus narrowed his eyes, resisting the urge to reach through the arch and throttle the Albus-shape.

"Lily, may I ask you something?" Albus had that calculating tone even, evidently, in death. Severus could picture him leaning back in his chair, eyes half-closed, and fingers steepled.

"What is it, Albus?" Now it was Lily who sounded beleaguered.

"If Severus were to join our company, what would you say to him?" Albus asked.

Lily almost growled with irritation. "As if that is any of your business!" she snapped. A short silence followed, then a different voice joined the conversation.

"I know what I'd say."

Severus ground his teeth. James Potter.

James continued, "I know apologies won't undo what happened in school. What we did was unworthy of our House. I didn't live to regret it, neither did Sirius. We had to die before we got some perspective – and some sense."

Severus watched as another shape moved closer to the gently fluttering curtain. Lily?

"I'd tell him... I'd say... I did accept his apology. I never told him. Calling me a Mudblood did not send me away; it was the company he chose to keep and the code he chose to live by." Lily raised her voice a little. "I couldn't follow you there, Sev. When you lashed out at me with that name, I took the easy way out. I used outrage at a puerile word as an excuse to walk away, when I should have told you honestly why I could not have anything more to do with you. I missed you, Sev; you were my best friend. When you set out on a path to darkness, it was like part of you had gone away, the very best part. I couldn't see you anymore. And my death was not your fault, you hear me? No more than it was Albus' fault for bringing Riddle to Hogwarts; though his demonstration of magic in the orphanage was just plain stupid! No more than it was Sybill's fault because she made the prophecy. Or Aberforth's fault for throwing you out of the pub. You did not know how Riddle would interpret the prophecy or what he would do. Riddle alone chose which family to murder, and he would not have stopped at one."

Severus dropped to his knees, head bowed. If he had not followed the Death Eaters, would Lily have ever chosen him over James Potter? He couldn't tell. It was pointless to speculate now; she stood on the other side of the arch with her husband by her side. He silently raged at his younger self's gullibility. Dark Magic was seductive and deceptive. It promised the fulfilment of any desire one wished to have, while leaching slow poison into the very roots of one's being. It silently destroyed, usurped, overruled and enslaved until there was nothing left but the will to serve its every whim. But it had not poisoned him completely. Severus had kept one space within himself hidden from all, protected and cherished. When he had agreed to spy for the light, he found it to be a source of strength, purpose and resolve in the most impossible circumstances. A power of which the Dark Lord knows not.

He raised his head. The ragged curtain shifted with more energy than before, and there was a faint current of cold air sucking inward, drawing him in, drawing him through... the Veil. Panic flashed through him at the realisation. How had he not known what it was when he first saw it? He did not want to go through. I'm not dead! Severus tried to stand, his limbs froze and panic descended into abject fear.

A song rippled through the chamber: a song of light and warmth and life. Severus felt his body relax, and he turned his back to the Veil, stretching his hands out as though to warm them by a fire. The song gained volume, filling the deepest shadows with lilting melody. The notes vibrated in his blood, and he thought he would willingly cut his heart open to allow the song to go there as well. He felt a surge of courage and looked back at the Veil.

"Thank you, Lily," he murmured.

"I took long enough to tell you, didn't I? I'm sorry I was not there for you, not even with a kind word."

Severus could tell she meant it. He gave a half-smile as he pressed his hand to the left side of his chest. "In a way, Lily, you were always there."

Without hesitation, Severus followed the song of the phoenix away from the arch and the dais and out of the Death Chamber.

"Fawkes, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard." Hermione watched as the phoenix flew to the remains of an armchair and began to preen, softly chattering as he did so. Sighing, she turned to the still form beside her. A slight movement arrested her attention. "You're breathing," she whispered.

Hermione seized Professor Snape's hand and again probed his wrist for his pulse, hardly daring to believe what she felt. Slow, yes, but strong and steady. On an impulse, she brushed her fingers lightly over his face, jumping violently when he twitched and took a deep breath. The hand she held flexed and gripped hers as a shudder rippled through his frame. She looked back at his face in time to see him blink several times and focus on her. His expression became one of complete bewilderment. Hermione fought the urge to laugh, fearing a descent into hysterics, which would not bode well at all with this particular wizard. But seriously, had anyone ever associated bewilderment with the world's most formidable Potions master? Hands still clasped, they simply stared at each other.

Severus was the first to speak, his voice husky and uncertain. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione was momentarily speechless: she nodded mutely. "How do you feel?" She forced out the question, wondering what sort of sharp retort she would get.

"Thirsty." Severus gave his immediate concern – his whole body screamed for water.

The simple statement immediately grounded Hermione; thirst was something she could deal with. Gently extracting her hand from his grip, she took a piece of shattered porcelain from the floor and transfigured it into a goblet, filling it with a softly spoken, "Aguamenti."

"Can you sit up?" she asked.

Severus carefully raised himself up on one elbow and reached for the goblet. He eyed her warily before taking a mouthful of water, then his body rebelled, and he quickly downed several long gulps before Hermione pulled his hand down.

"Slowly, Professor."

He coughed and blinked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve as he nodded assent.

"Miss Granger, if I may hear from you what has occurred since..." He abruptly clamped a hand to his neck as an image of Nagini, from a viewpoint he never wanted to see, slammed into his consciousness with all the impact of a psilocybin-induced hallucination. He shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness, forced the nightmare to the back of his mind and concentrated on breathing slowly. Focussing on the injury, Severus gingerly released his pressure hold, probing a raised roughness on his skin that felt like scar tissue. He frowned, puzzled. His adaptation of the anti-venin could slow the rate of blood loss and disable the anticoagulants, but he was sure it could not completely heal an open wound. He felt the rents in his collar where Nagini's fangs had pierced through to his flesh. Then he realised his clothing had been tampered with and his wand was nowhere in sight. He looked at Miss Granger questioningly.

"I thought you were dead," Hermione began. "You weren't breathing, I couldn't find a pulse. And you were cold. I thought you were dead. Then Fawkes came." She fell silent as he searched his robes and produced a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion, uncorked it, and swallowed the contents.

"Fawkes? You are sure?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. He's right over... he was over there," she finished lamely.

Professor Snape did not reply. He wore an expression that reminded Hermione of Rodin's statue, "The Thinker".

"Sir, when Fawkes came, he... wanted to see your wounds..."

"Asked you to do this, did he?" Severus pulled at his loosened collar. The last witch who tried handling his attire learned very quickly not to touch what wasn't hers.

Hermione ignored his sarcasm; she was really too tired for any nonsense. "Yes he did. Not in the Queen's English, but he did get his message across quite clearly. He looked at your wounds, he dropped two tears on them, then he began to sing. I don't know how long he sang for; it was so beautiful, I just listened. Then he sat on that chair over there. You woke up soon after. For your information, sir, Riddle was defeated at sunrise this morning; he died a little over two hours ago."

The only sounds were the wind outside and the creaking of the walls. The candle flickered in the feeble light. Again, the witch and wizard stared at each other.

Hermione broke the silence this time. "Looking at each other will not achieve anything." Speech roused her to action and she stood, offering her hand to help him up. "See if you can stand and walk: we can't stay here. Aurors and anyone else who's willing and able are seeking Riddle's supporters. If they find you, it won't be a courteous meeting. They'll probably kill you on sight. I think it best to get you to a safe place, then if you like we can discuss... recent events."

Severus immediately saw the sense in this, but he was loath to have someone assist him to stand, especially some bossy chit who seemed to think she knew what was best for everyone. He glanced up at her as she stood waiting for him. She was spectacularly dirty, bloodied, bruised, thin and exhausted to the bone, yet still capable of decisive action. She had come back here alone, Merlin knew why, and in what was still a very dangerous climate. Despite the rashness of her actions, credit was deserved. He surprised himself by revising his assessment of her: a courageous witch with the battle-scars to prove it. He accepted her hand and allowed her to take a very little of his weight. He got to his feet without difficulty, though he did flinch noticeably when he saw just how much of his blood stained the floor.

"Scourgify! I don't think either of us need to see that anymore," Hermione said grimly.

Hermione chewed her lower lip, considering her next words. When asked if he had organised any possible hiding places, Professor Snape had dryly stated his version of a best case scenario was to spend the rest of his life in hiding. He insisted this would suit him to the ground. He liked isolation. It was not infested with interfering busybodies, mindless dunderheads, or psychotic maniacs. Furthermore, not being dead, he was quite willing and able to walk out of the Shack and get on with it. No, he did not think the Room of Requirement was a good idea. As soon as the Hogwarts wards were restored he would be detected; assuming the house-elves, ghosts, gargoyles or portraits didn't spot him first. At that point he had demanded to know why she was so intent on seeing him safe, why she came back, and what did she want from him. Hermione fought to keep her voice steady. Then it all came out in a rush.

"I came back here because... because it wasn't fair, it wasn't right... you didn't deserve to die like that, or lie here for hours in pain if you were alive... and I didn't want someone else to find you because they'd kill you or send you to Azkaban. Yes, we left you here, but we didn't know for sure if you were ally or enemy. Harry told me what Dumbledore asked you to do. Professor, you did so much without anyone knowing and put up with so much crap and nobody ever thought... of what you might be..." Her voice broke as tears coursed unheeded down her face. "We wouldn't have stood a chance without you."

Nonplussed at this outburst, Severus noted she was trembling and used that observation to gather his wits. "Nobody was to know – nobody could have known – or else our whole advantage would have been lost along with a great many more lives. As to putting up with crap, as you so elegantly put it, I learned to ignore it long ago."

"I should have known better," she snapped, anger flashing in her eyes.

"How so?"

"I don't know! Everything that was said about you and the things I saw or found out for myself. I put all the pieces together over several years, and if they were two halves of an equation, I couldn't get them to balance. I analysed it to death, and it still didn't make sense. Like when you told Umbridge you didn't have any Veritaserum left because she used it all on Cho. Up until then we thought Cho was a traitor – that she was weak and cracked under pressure. Then you show up and oh-so-neatly clear her name! Why would you do that? Why did you hold me back when I would have walked right into a werewolf's jaws? Your classroom could have been free of bushy-haired know-it-alls. Why would you send Gryffindors to Hagrid for detention, instead of leaving them to the Carrows?

"There were so many incidents, Professor, that pushed the numbers in your favour. I wondered if I was biased because I'd always respected you. Then you'd go and do something petty and despicable, and I'd be right back where I started; with no clear answer."

She paused as she made an effort to calm herself. "To fully answer your question, sir, if I found you alive, what I wanted was to get you to a safe place while Harry tries to clear your name. He said he would, you know. I don't want anything from you; not everything depends on bargains."

Hermione gazed at the floor miserably, feeling as though she were about to leap into an abyss.

"Sir, I do have a place in mind where you will be safe. No one else knows of it; I had to keep it secret. It is a long way from here, and I do not want to discuss any details of the location." She looked at him furtively, and he nodded his understanding. "To take you there, you will have to trust me."

Severus considered her words. It was not often someone had the backbone to – he borrowed a Muggle expression – "let him have it both barrels." That she was one of the few students who did genuinely respect him had not escaped his attention. Logically, if she spoke truthfully about respect, why would she be untruthful about her reasons for being here, now, with him?

He recalled Phineas' account that Miss Granger had defended him several times against some behind-the-back insults from Potter and Weasley, rounding on them fiercely and saying in as many words that Professor Snape did not deserve such derision. Apparently it was all such a novelty, Phineas just had to mention it or burst. Such incidents kept the portraits entertained for days, and they even dared to precipitate a few themselves.

Whatever her motivation, it was not a new thing, though he did suspect she might regard him as some sort of project. Why else would she have been observing him? It made him a little uneasy. However, he had heard the opinions of his colleagues, and various other inmates of Hogwarts, on the character of Miss Granger. All of them thought her to be honest, trustworthy and loyal to the death. A witch who would never betray a confidence. Of the few paths he could take, the one she offered was most likely to be the safest. Severus folded his arms across his chest and realised he had been pacing the floor.

"Miss Granger, you observed that we cannot stay here?"

Hermione dried her eyes. "It would not be wise. Sir, this belongs to you." She drew his wand from her sleeve and presented it to him graciously. Aware this was an affirmation that she was prepared to trust him, Severus gave a polite half-bow before stowing his wand safely out of sight.

"I shall not use it except in life-threatening circumstances," he told her. "In the absence of my body, the Ministry will most likely put a trace out for me should I use any magic."

"If they haven't already. I don't think they are listing anyone as dead until they've been thoroughly checked for signs of life. Just as well I wasn't involved in that exercise," she added ruefully. She looked at him quizzically and fiddled with her wand.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Sir, would you mind if I... well, you see... you're a mess."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I've been called worse. Very well, but use Scourgify at your peril!"

Hermione was thankful she had learned some of the less abrasive cleansing charms. Professor Snape looked a lot better without dried and clotted blood all over him. Not that he appeared to be appreciative. His sullen scowl indicated quite the opposite. Shaking her head, she took a slender black feather with a white tip from her pocket. She had collected the feather on a heavily forested and somewhat neglected property left to her by her grandmother. It had taken her weeks to transform the feather into a Portkey, with numerous close calls after curfew in the library and some blinding headaches after hours spent on Arithmantic equations. She had worked out how to "open end" the Portkey, so she could transport herself from any location back to the property, any number of times. With her parents still unaware of their "previous" lives, she was the only person who knew of the property's location. She had planned on using it, assuming she survived, as a bolthole in case Riddle's forces won the war. To this end the place was well stocked with medical supplies, both Muggle and magical, as well as food under stasis charms. Enough for a small number of fugitives. If Riddle had been defeated, it would have been a useful base to commence searching for her parents. Tom Riddle was dead and, in the most unexpected circumstances, she was looking at someone who needed to vanish for a while.

At that instant, several loud cracks not too far from the Shack announced the arrival of, most likely, a search party. Hermione extinguished the candle with a gesture as voices from outside spoke of spreading out, keeping eyes open, and wands ready. Severus dropped into a duelling stance, wand raised.

"Come on!" she hissed fiercely, grabbing his left wrist.

The voices outside exclaimed. Garbled arguments about a phoenix wanting them to follow it were heard over the blustering wind. The voices faded with the crunch of retreating footsteps as the party moved away.

"Thanks, Fawkes." Hermione sighed in relief as she held the Portkey out and soundlessly incanted the name of the bird it belonged to.

The familiar sensation of Portkey transport lasted longer than Severus anticipated. He was beginning to wonder just how far they were travelling when he felt a solid surface beneath his feet. Blinking, he looked around a large, well-lit room, equipped with what could be described as assorted oddments. Hermione gasped for breath, pale and evidently weak in the knees. As a matter of course, Severus put curiosity aside and attended her first, helping her to a chair.

"Is this a temporary ailment, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, thank you. Give me a moment and I'll be fine. Portkeys make me a bit queasy."

"You are aware that unauthorised Portkey creation is illegal?" He regarded her severely.

"Yes I am. And it goes against all that's Gryffindor that the first person I show it to is a Slytherin!"

Severus made a point of looking smug before examining his surroundings. The room they were in was more of a "general use" space with four doors leading from it – two on his right, one to the rear, and one to the front, presumably the entrance. Deep shadows over the front windows told him of a shaded outdoor area extending beyond the front door. A long table with built-on benches occupied the centre of the room, flanked by four mismatched armchairs. To his left, a wood stove stood in an alcove, sharing the space with neatly split and stacked firewood. The rest of the left hand wall was taken up with a fridge, a sink, a workbench and several large cupboards. The whole structure was built from a steel frame, with some attempt at insulation which left the trusses exposed.

He let his senses run further, detecting an impressive array of wards. Looking out of a window, Severus read the angle of the sun. Mid afternoon, he thought. Riddle's death had occurred at sunrise and Hermione had joined him about two hours afterwards. That made around nine hours difference between Scotland and their current location. They had Portkeyed to the other side of the world! A bird had been calling while he appraised his surroundings. Now he listened for it carefully. The bird called again. With some imagination the call formed words: curra-wong, curra-wong, hey-you! His mind supplied the identity automatically, along with a list of useful indigenous plants the bird was known to frequent.

"Miss Granger," he intoned gravely, "the Pied Currawong is native to eastern Australia. When you said you knew of a place a long distance away, you indulged in something of an understatement."

Hermione felt she should have the grace to look apologetic. However, a streak of boldness took her and she answered him, poker-faced, in a similar tone. "To call it 'something of an understatement', Professor Snape, is quite an exaggeration."