Part the Second

Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I need to reiterate that I do not own these characters, but if I did, I'd be given them lots of cuddles, especially this one.

He drifted up through layers of warmth and softness, idly wondering if he was dead. It was too blissfully clean here to be his former residence, too comfortable to be St. Mungo's, and too warm to be outdoors. Ergo, he was dead. He pried open one sticky eye and saw auburn hair, and knew he was dead.

"Hello at last," he said tiredly. "I thought I'd be here much earlier, but better late than never, as they say." His words, while faintly buffed with his old ironic tone, were too weak to sound truly like the boy Lily Evans had once known, but he didn't think it mattered. "Although I will say, I'm not nearly as thrilled to see you as I thought I'd be," he concluded, his words growing more slurry and indistinct.

The fuzzy outline of his companion moved, and just before blessed sleep descended again, he thought he heard Lily say, "Mum, he woke up. I think he was talking to me!"

Waking again, hours later, he knew he was dead because he was in hell. Everything hurt - his head, his stomach, his chest, his arse. He groaned beseechingly. "Take the money back," he whined, trying to wave away the ugly bastard who'd given him coin to walk into the back of Knockturn Alley with him. "I'd rather starve, on second thought."

It was all coming back now. He'd not eaten in four days, and two young wizards, old enough to know who he was, stole his purse which held the last of his pitiful dosh. He'd sworn that he'd rather die than go cap in hand to any of his friends to ask for help, but after four days of living rough, with only a handful of water from a puddle to sustain him, he realised that pride could be swallowed very easily on an empty stomach. When the bullet-headed wizard had looked him up and down and barked, "How much, Snape?" then given him half, Severus had numbly slunk behind the man as they headed to a part of Knockturn Alley known for its deep alcoves and dark corners.

As he trained his eyes on the back of the man leading Severus into the shadows, he told himself it was just something he had to do, the latest in a lot of arse reamings he'd endured for the Greater Good. This one would just be literal as well as figurative. It wasn't as if he were engaged in it; it was just something happening to his body – he wasn't involved. He just had to do it to survive.

As they walked to their destination, Severus pondered how far and how fast he'd fallen. After somehow surviving Nagini's attack, he believed he could learn to live without friends as long as he was able to support himself until the resentful public forgot about him. But the Ministry took his wand and his magic, and froze his assets for fifteen years. He accepted it stoically; it was, after all, preferable to Azkaban.

Exiled to his boyhood home in disgrace, Severus prepared to live the life of a magic-less pariah, holed up in his old house in Spinner's End, surrounded by his books. Then the wizard he was brewing for read an article in the Prophet damning those who gave aid and assistance to former Death Eaters, and told him his services were no longer needed. And the wolf came to the door, and the house and the books were eventually sold so he could keep body and soul together.

He'd decided he could survive as long as he could scrape together enough money doing the odd jobs in order to keep a roof, any roof over his head. But those jobs dried up and the landlord, never the most charitable of wizards, unceremoniously threw him out, after Accio-ing Snape's remaining galleon as back rent. The purse holding his last few knuts and sickles had been hidden in his shoe, or the money-grubbing bastard would have gotten that one as well.

In the end, it didn't matter. A wizard without magic is next to useless, even one as well-versed in the Muggle world as Severus. Without money, he couldn't begin again in Muggle London; and without Muggle London, Severus would be condemned to Knockturn Alley. From there he knew he would have to do things he'd swore he'd never do in order to survive.

Looking at the sneering contempt on the face of his first 'customer,' a weary, sick desolation passed over and through him, and he thought, I'm as good as dead. I'm not going to be found with an arse full of some stranger's leavings. Just as the man put his hand on Severus' shoulder, Severus handed him the coin he'd been paid in advance.

"Take it. I've changed my mind. Seek another." He'd made to leave, but was spun around by the oafish wizard.

"'Ere, Snape, you might have changed your mind, but I haven't," he leered, pushing him against the wall.

The next few moments were thankfully a bit muddled in Severus' mind. He remembered tasting blood in his mouth and the blistering hex that broke his nose and made him see stars. He remembered the burning sensation as his robes were unceremoniously jerked away and the rasp against his face as it was scraped along the cobbles. He distinctly remembered the foolish feeling that he'd been had, literally.

He remembered catching the rapist off guard and throwing him against the wall, then turning to run, knowing it was futile, but refusing to lie there and have the last vestiges of his self-preservation ground into the dirt. As he ran, he heard the mocking voices and derisory laughter following him – the Great Severus Snape, reduced to running like the coward he was, clutching a threadbare robe to his skinny body. A laughingstock, to the great delight of the denizens of the lowest, most craven corner of Knockturn Alley.

A curse hit him from behind like the Hogwarts Express, and even as he fell, he thought, Finally. Sell my bones – at least I'll be worth something to someone then.

A sound in the room brought his awareness back to the present, but when he tried to turn his head, a burst of pain of the most unmanning kind exploded over his consciousness, and he whimpered self-pityingly. Gods, death would truly be preferable to this...

Then a gentle hand lifted his head, and a smooth, cool vial was pressed to his lips. "Please drink this. It will help, I promise." As helpless as a baby bird, Severus opened his mouth, letting a thick, warm liquid trickle down his throat. It tasted faintly of cinnamon and hyssop, and he knew he was being given a powerful Pain Potion. He tried to focus his eyes, but it wasn't possible. In the dim light, he could barely make out the form of the person who held him so tenderly. A woman, smelling of mint and vanilla and safety. He tried to speak. "Shh, please don't tax yourself," said the woman, her voice quietly competent. "Try to rest. You are safe. No one will hurt you here. You need to get your strength back."

Severus lay back, thinking he should thank her, because he actually did feel out of harm's way. Not since he was a little boy staying at his grandmother's house did he feel so protected and safe. The heavy narcotic pull of the potion was sending him down, however, and no matter how he tried, he could not resist its siren's call...

His fever had broken again, for what she hoped was the final time. He was in far worse shape than Hermione had originally assessed, but she thought the worst of it might finally be behind him now. There had been moments, though, when Hermione had been more frightened than she was willing to admit. She had never seen anyone run such a high fever.

Now that he was out of the woods, Hermione allowed herself the small luxury of simply observing her guest. Where had the cruel, sneering professor of her school days gone? Even in his feverish delirium, he exhibited none of the bitter, caustic anger that catalogued Hermione's admittedly spotty recollections of him. It was as if the passing years had wrung him out, and took that malicious, bad-tempered part of him with it.

He wasn't defeated, exactly; Hermione could still see his old defiant steel beneath. No, not defeated; it was more like an acceptance, a tired resignation. It made Hermione wonder if she had really ever even known this man at all.

Watching him sleeping restlessly, Hermione took her hairbrush in hand again. Early on, she discovered that the simple act of gently brushing his hair was something that always soothed him through the fever nightmares and the pain. Most of the time, he was consciously unaware of it. But he would sigh and make little sounds of pleasure, so she knew that on some level it comforted him.

As her brush moved slowly through his hair, Hermione felt a measure of calm settling into her own heart. This palliative act was soothing to her as well, and she took a quiet joy in running her fingers through his black, silken locks, admiring its sleek softness. As she brushed, the faint scowl on his face relaxed, and his shoulders dropped a little. His long, slender hand flexed slowly, like a cat's will, when being stroked.

On impulse she ran her nails over his scalp, and he took a deep breath. A soft laugh sighed from his lips, startling Hermione into stillness. She had never heard anything like it; a slow, dark chuckle that sounded surprisingly sensual. It reverberated against her chest.

Sleepily, he caught one of her hands, brought it to his lips and kissed it. "That's so nice. Don't stop," he rumbled, and nuzzled against her palm with another soft kiss. His voice was deep and intimate; a lover's voice. "So sweet. Don't stop," he said, before drifting off, a smile almost touching his lips.

With her hand caught against his gaunt cheek, Hermione sat as still as possible, not wanting to disturb him so he would stay nestled against her hand. She was, however, shaken to her very foundations, and even though he obviously was unaware that it was actually her, it spoke volumes about him. Even if he had been a bastard in school, something in his soul both appreciated and longed for affection. He also longed to administer it in return.

More disturbingly, it told her something about herself. For when her former professor had laughed his low, sexy laugh and kissed her hand, Hermione felt a queer heat rise in her body that had nothing to do with illness or fever. It was a feeling she'd not had in a long time, and one she would have never associated with Severus Snape. All the more disturbing was the fact that she welcomed it, and felt an almost irresistible longing to hear that throaty, sensuous chuckle again.

Severus was faintly aware of a soothing, lovely sensation, but he couldn't focus enough to name it. He was no longer burning with fever, and the blissful sensation was replaced with another Potion, and some cool water that tasted sweet and fresh and wholesome.

Shades of memories of the past days drifted in and out of his awareness. At one point he remembered screaming and flailing, dragging himself to the surface of consciousness, and feeling strong hands holding him down while a gentle voice urged him to calm, that it was only a nightmare. He called for Lily to take pity on him. He called for Minerva McGonagall, who had always been kind to him before the war.

At times, it seemed as if both women were in the room with him, holding his hands. He sobbed miserably, wondering when the nightmare would end. He babbled, and soiled himself in his delirium, but he woke up between these bouts of madness clean and comfortable and exhausted.

He was given tomato soup, and it tasted so good he wept like a weak child. He was spoken to tenderly and hushed and petted, and a sweet voice told him it was alright, that he would be alright, just rest...

For an interminable amount of time, he slept. He would awaken, to the soothing sensation of someone running a brush through his hair. His potioneer's nose picked up the scent of baking; he detected nutmeg and cloves and sage and winter cooking smells. They comforted him.

The next time Severus awoke, his eyes were clear, and he lay quietly trying to catalogue the damage to his body. He still felt sore, but it was the deep, muscular soreness that goes with healing. The stabbing agony was dulled now, and he took a deep breath and felt no pain.

He took a hesitant look around and saw a woman sitting in a chair, reading a book. Her wild hair fluffed out around her in corkscrews, catching the afternoon sun as it slanted through the window. It had been a little over ten years, but he'd know that mad hair anywhere on earth.

"Granger?" he croaked. Hermione Granger looked up from the book, her large amber-coloured eyes wide. A smile broke across her face like the sun appearing from the clouds, and she laid her book on the table and approached his bed, withdrawing her wand and casting diagnostic spells even as she spoke.

"Mr. Snape! I must say, it's so good to see you awake." She sounded tearful. Her tone, though sincere, was soft, as if afraid to startle him. "You've been unconscious for almost two weeks." Whatever her spells told her was evidently satisfactory, and she tucked her wand back into her sleeve and looked down on him. "We've been so very worried about you." She stroked his hair from his face, and he resisted the urge to press his cheek against her gentle hand. "How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"

Severus blinked several times. "What am I doing here?" he said, sounding frighteningly weak to his own ears. "Am I in St. Mungo's?"

Granger smiled as if remembering a private joke. "You're actually in my home, Mr. Snape. My daughter saw you being attacked and ran to your rescue."

He stared at her blankly, trying to make sense of her words. She might as well have been speaking Gobbledegook. "Wha-" The word stuck on his rasping, dry vocal chords, and instantly she was pressing a glass of cool water to his lips.

"Small sips. You choked the other day and I thought I was going to lose you." She smiled to take the alarm out of her words, but he could see the concern in her eyes. "When you're feeling better, I'll tell you all about the daring rescue."

He lay back, the questions he needed to ask forming in his mind, but the bed was so soft, and he was so comfortable. I'll close my eyes and gather my thoughts, he told himself. I'll just lie here until I'm ready to start asking questions. Just to rest my eyes while I pull myself together...

When he awoke for good, it was dark. He gingerly sat up, felt no dizziness or nausea, and looked around. The moonlight was bright and filled the room with a surprising amount of light. It was so quiet it felt as if the world were asleep and he was the only one awake. He was in a small bedroom painted cream and blue, and then he remembered.

He stared at his surroundings, bewildered, wondering what on earth he was doing in Hermione Granger's house, in the middle of the night, in a black t-shirt that said "I am the proud parent of a Bottlebury Marsh Infant School Student" and a pair of black tracksuit trousers.

He mentally took stock of his body, but felt no pain. Miss Granger had certainly healed him, but why? His old self whispered to leave now, while the house was asleep, to go and disappear while he was healthy enough to move, but he shook his head. Idiot! You don't even know where you are – where are you going to go, on no money, in a pair of track suit bottoms and Hermione Granger's cast-off t-shirt?

He lay back down, and laced his hands behind his head. He was warm, comfortable and safe. How long had it been since any of those adjectives applied to him? He sighed, fighting the self-pity that had become his constant companion in the last three years, along with the ever-increasing surety of never being able to feel whole again. He noticed ruefully that the cuff that suppressed his magic was still securely clamped to his wrist. Not even Granger could remove that.

He was curious and hungry, but he imagined Granger would be up soon to resolve both of those issues, so all there was to do was wait. He felt as if he'd been sleeping for years. For all he knew, he had. All he was certain of was the sickening feeling that he'd sunk as low as was humanly possible, only to wake up in this soft nest like the pitiable charity case Granger no doubt considered him to be.

And yet, what was he supposed to do now, that he'd hit the bottom and lived? Well, my boy, life is a wheel. When you have reached the bottom and there is nowhere left to go, you know the wheel is starting its ascent again. He could almost hear the old poof saying it.

Lying in this peaceful, welcoming room, Severus wondered where the wheel was taking him. And if he should revert to type, and jump off before things felt like they might just look positive? Was he that scared of happiness now? He always had been, but he'd thought before that he'd reached the bottom. He hadn't known the bottom until lately. Not really.

He rolled over, reveling in the softness of the sheets. The feel of being in such a quiet, comfortable environment bordered on decadent to him, after three years of living in that scratchy, noisy hovel Greenbrown had let out to him. Severus frowned; he couldn't work out exactly why he was here instead of St. Mungo's, though. He would have thought she was being rather overly generous with her hospitality, but at this stage of his life, that old imp Pride was no longer holding the reins over his heart. As hungry as he was, he no longer had the appetite for biting the hand that fed him.

He dozed off and on for the next few hours until the grey dawn heralded movement and life in the house. He heard soft female voices murmuring, and quiet laughter. He sat up, thinking he should have already made his consciousness known, when a young girl with dark red hair entered the room with a tray. Seeing him awake and alert surprised her so much she yelped a little squeak of shock and dropped the tray, sending a plate of eggs, bacon and toast flying, along with orange juice and coffee.

Severus looked at the hot food splattered all over the floor and sighed. "Story of my life," he muttered. The young girl looked up at him with enormous blue eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She held out a hand and imperiously said, "Now, don't move. I'm going to get Mum." Her mannerisms were so familiar it actually startled him into laughter. The girl was the spitting image of a Weasley, but the reincarnation of a first-year Hermione Granger. Except for the lack of wild hair and prominent teeth, she might as well have been wearing a Gryffindor robe and waving her hand in the air.

There was a commotion downstairs, and the young girl appeared with Hermione Granger in tow. She was saying, "I'm sorry for the mess, Mum, but I wasn't expecting him to be awake!" Far from sounding frightened, the young girl was practically bouncing with excitement. "Is he going to be alright, Mum?"

Severus looked at Hermione Granger, trying to reconcile this lovely young woman with the over-achieving swot he remembered from so long ago, and shook his head. "'Mum'? We've been busy, haven't we, Miss Granger, or should I say, Mrs. Weasley?"

Hermione looked surprised, then the same smile he remembered during his first lucid moments returned. "Good morning, Mr. Snape! Sorry about that, but Rose usually brings your morning meals, and I forgot to tell her you were awake. My monitor, you know," she said, beaming as she pointed to a little circular object by his bed. It resembled an old fashioned Sneak-o-scope, but he saw nothing amiss from it.

He turned back to his diminutive hostess. "I apologise for startling you." He swallowed. "I have to say, I was rather looking forward to that," he finished, looking regretfully down at the spoiled food on the floor.

"Where are my manners?" Hermione said, and Evanesco'd the mess. "You must be ravenous. I've been feeding you liquids and some fluids intravenously, but I was hoping you'd feel up to something solid." She turned to Rose. "Sweetheart, go and finish getting dressed. You don't want to be late for school again. Mrs. Jason will have my head if you miss one more Morning Call."

She turned back to Severus. "We've been so worried about you, I've grown terribly negligent of poor Rose's timetable. She's been late for school more times in the past two weeks than in her entire life."

Rose, standing by her mother, hadn't moved. "Oh, Mum, can't I stay in today? I want to talk to Mr. Snape!"

Severus frowned at the two young women, and Hermione laughed. "Now there's the Professor Snape I remember!" She turned to Rose. "Darling, I'm sure you would find Mr. Snape quite fascinating, but the poor man has just woken up and he's starving to boot, so perhaps he would agree to speak to you soon. But for now, school. March!" She pointed to the door with a mock-imperious expression.

With a disappointed groan, Rose nevertheless obeyed her mother and left the adults on their own. Hermione made a little moue of an apology. "I'm afraid Rose has spent her entire life hearing about you and has developed a bit of hero worship, along with the rest of us."

When Severus didn't reply, she gave him a tight little smile. "Right, that'll be more breakfast then. Those eggs won't crack themselves." She turned to go.

"Why not?"

She looked back at him, her expression faintly puzzled. "Why not what?"

Snape nodded toward the wand she still held. "You're a witch. Why don't you make the eggs crack themselves?" When she didn't reply, he added with a dismissive shrug, "I just don't see why you wouldn't use magic if you had it." He looked down at the blue duvet covering his body, hating the bitterness in his tone. "Forgive me, Mrs. Weasley. I spoke out of turn. Your magic is yours to do with, or not, as you will. I'm afraid after ten years of living without, I can't help but wonder why you would if you didn't have to."

For a moment, he thought she wouldn't reply. Then, in an oddly flat tone, she said, "I use magic often, Mr. Snape. And you're right; it's hard not to take for granted that which you use without thought. I actually prefer to do things the Muggle way when I can. I think if Hogwarts taught me anything, it was that relying on magic to do everything is as dangerous as suppressing it."

She seemed to realise how tactless her statement sounded to Severus, and hastily added, "But I usually cook the Muggle way. It's like Potions, you know? You put more of yourself into it when you use your hands instead of your wand." She made to leave, then hesitated at the door. "And I'm not married; it's Miss. Miss Granger, if you prefer, but I do hope you'll call me Hermione." She gave him the tight little smile again, and left Severus alone with his thoughts.