Part The Fifth

I am thrilled with the reception of this story. Thank you for continuing to support my little fluffy, sentimental story. Thank you, stgulik, for always being right on the money about these things. This chapter is dedicated to her.

If Severus' memory of Hermione's wards sounds familiar, it was because this was the inspiration for Droxy's Folly. Apologies for the repeated usage of the plot device, but I really, really love the idea of Hermione's wards being so strong, and yet so protective.

In the memory, eighteen-year-old Hermione approached him, her expression carefully shuttered. Hermione imagined that she would have been afraid, but would have tried not to show it. He was, after all, Dumbledore's murderer, Lord Voldemort's right-hand man – he was not a wizard to trifle with. In the middle of the forest in the middle of the night, surrounded by trees and moonlight, Severus Snape radiated power. Power to pass through her strongest wards; power to strike her to the ground with a whispered curse.

When she was within six feet of him, he made what appeared to be a slight bow, as if acknowledging her presence. For a moment, they merely gazed at one another, and Hermione could see her memory-self shivering, possibly from the cold. She could have been simply frightened. Hermione, thinking back to those dark days, thought it was probably a fairly potent mixture of both.

In a flash of movement, Headmaster Snape whipped the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped her within, placing a strong Warming charm over both of them. He turned and looked out over the forest. "Well met in moonlight, Miss Granger." His voice was soft, and edged with a feathery tremble of exhaustion.

For a moment, the memory-Hermione simply looked at him. It was obvious that she was as curious as she was frightened, but the deep quiet of the night cast a spell over them both, and neither seemed inclined to break it. Finally, in a voice that sounded amazingly brave, memory-Hermione said, "I have a reason to be here, Headmaster. Can you say the same?"

For a long moment, he remained silent. Then, he turned and looked at her, wrapped in his voluminous cloak like a child masquerading in grown-up garb. "An errand needed running." There was resentment and sadness in his voice, and memory-Hermione continued to meet his gaze, challenging him. Finally, he sighed. "Are you well? Do you need anything? Food, potions?" Rather wryly, he drawled, "The will to keep going?"

Stonily, she replied, "I suspect we have enough to survive. Of everything we need to keep going, sir." He nodded, and looked away, as if seeking something, perhaps an answer, in the soughing pines. Hermione gasped, then blurted, "It was you! You brought Harry the sword of Gryffindor! How did you know where-" She huffed, and her breath roiled, ghostly grey, from her lips. "Black. He overheard me, didn't he?"

The headmaster nodded. "Yes. But I wouldn't be too hard on the old fellow." He sneered. "The task was accomplished, so I suppose we must feel some gratitude to the pompous arse for giving away your position." He squinted up at the moon, as if gauging its path across the sky. "The end is coming, Miss Granger. Please be ready. Please make sure he is ready." Neither had to clarify who he was.

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I am ready. As much as I can be, sir. I have been, ever since I was eleven."

For the first time in her life, Hermione, watching her memory-self, saw how she looked through the eyes of someone else. As her eighteen-year-old self spoke to Headmaster Snape, Hermione could see the emotions dancing across her face: weariness, fear, resolve, uncertainty. The young girl swallowed, and whispered, "Professor, why are you here? I mean," she shook her head. "I know what you did, but why? I thought you-you hated Harry."

For a moment, he was silent, as if he hadn't heard her. She reached for his arm, and he looked down at the place where her slender fingers curled around his bicep. The headmaster scowled at her, grimacing, and something, perhaps the concern and the confusion he saw there, undid him, and he turned away, breathing hard enough to form clouds of vapour around his dark head. At that moment, Hermione thought he was angry with her impertinence.

"I never professed to feel otherwise, Miss Granger," he hissed warningly.

The younger Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Then why? If you hate us so much, if you are truly You-Know-Who's man, why did you do it?"

He shook his arm free. "Why do you think, Miss Granger? Why have I done anything and everything Dumbledore wanted me to do for the past sixteen years, no matter how repugnant? Because he commanded it! Even from the grave he is still commanding me to do his will!" He turned to Hermione with a voice rising in pain and fury. "'You must protect the boy, Severus! Take the sword to Potter, Severus! Try to save Draco's soul, Severus! At the proper time, kill me, Severus!'" Snape roared, his eyes wild and staring. He was looking through Hermione as if she wasn't there; as if the one who had commanded him was still standing by, bidding Headmaster Snape to obey him, even at the risk of Snape's very soul.

Suddenly his face crumpled, and with a sobbing wail he buried his head in his hands. "Oh, gods," he wept, and his shoulders shook. "I'm so tired, so bloody sick and tired of it all. Oh gods damn him! Please, end this madness! I can't take it... why me? Why do I have to endure this?"

He fell to his knees, at Hermione's feet. "Thank Merlin this will be over soon," he moaned. He choked, "Soon... I don't want... I don't..."

Hermione saw her younger self gasp as understanding dawned. "Oh, Merlin. Dumbledore - he made you do it, didn't he? I knew Harry didn't have it right, it just didn't make sense that-"

"He made me. He told me I had to." The headmaster bent double, as if in pain. "Oh, gods, I should have turned my wand on myself!"

In their reality, Hermione looked up at the real Severus, and though he watched with the stillness of a statue, she saw bleak sadness as he watched his memory-self. The Severus Snape in the Pensieve wept inconsolably, and eleven years later, Hermione's heart ached to see the exhaustion and hopelessness in the face of the man she had come to care for so deeply. Whatever was happening at Hogwarts had been killing him by inches. It was simply awful to watch.

Hermione watched as her memory-self knelt in front of him and tried to calm him, but it was as if a dam had broken, and he no longer had the strength to fight against the anguish which tore through his soul. Finally, she opened the edges of the cloak and drew him into the warmth of the garment. He looked at her with huge, hopeless eyes, clasped her to himself and buried his head on her shoulder. He sobbed like all heartbroken beings cry when there is nothing left but despair, and comfort can no longer bring peace, but only a short reprieve from the agony.

Hermione rocked him, her young face full of stunned disbelief. Looking at her younger self, Hermione knew very well what she was thinking. Everything she had ever known and understood about Dumbledore had just been up-ended by the weeping man in her arms. She must have been stricken with the realisation of the truth.

Looking into the headmaster's woeful face, the young Hermione whispered, "And who will make sure you are ready, sir? Who is looking out for you?" She watched him carefully, her face bewildered and sad. "You're all alone, aren't you, Professor? Dumbledore made you take his life, and then he left you alone to take all the blame." The young girl's expression softened into regretful, inexplicable sympathy for the wizard.

Between his sobs, he rasped, "There is no one. There must be no one. No one can help me, Miss Granger. I do not deserve it. I have no right to deserve it. I accept my fate. I accept it," he said, and his face twisted again. "But gods, why does it have to hurt so much?"

Tears streamed down his face, which looked faintly blue in the moonlight. He looked at her with the careworn, tired eyes of a child, bewildered and pitiful. Hermione cried as she rocked the desolate wizard and crooned and shushed him. Gradually he calmed, and as she made gentle noises and stroked his hair, he slumped against her, spent and dazed.

Finally, he sat up with a deep shuddering breath, and wiped away his tears. For several moments they sat still, the tall trees of the forest their only witnesses. He turned to her, and Hermione watched, rapt, as the headmaster looked down at her, and his expression changed. He was looking at her not as a professor looks at a student, but as a man looks at a woman.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks, caressing her face with the tips of his fingers. "I wish so badly things could have been different," he said, softly. He stroked her hair gently, an almost fond expression stealing over his stern features. "For such a little one, you have such a great heart." Then he leaned forward and kissed her. Hermione watched her eighteen-year-old self start at first, then accept this gentlest of caresses, and even at a distance she could see the longing and hope and heartache that traveled in that kiss. It was brief and tender and held a sweet, selfish edge, taking more than it gave. When at last his mouth drew away from hers, Hermione gasped at the same time as her memory-self, because they had both forgotten to breathe.

The headmaster quietly drew her into his arms and held her. "May you live and find the happiness you deserve, Hermione Granger," he said, his voice so heavy with hopelessness Hermione's tears began anew.

"Please don't give up, Professor," she was saying, her own tears flowing freely. "I believe... you... did what you did because he made you, not because you wanted to. I believe you're on our side! One day, this will all be over and you can explain to everyone what really happened! You'll be free then."

He shook his head sadly, and with a surprising amount of pity in his voice, he said, "I will never be free, little Granger. Freedom isn't a luxury meant for the likes of me." He wiped his eyes and sniffed. As she watched, something like a mask descended over his features, though his tone remained gentle. "Just like this moment. It isn't for you to keep in your heart, even as much as you would like to."

The memory-Hermione visibly swallowed. "It's because I might give you away, isn't it? Because I might do or say something that would make this entire house of cards fall over? Because I might be captured, and betray you?"

He toyed with one of the buttons on the cloak he'd given her, and sniffed again. His nose was starting to run, and he tiredly wiped it on his sleeve like a first-year. "I am sorry, but yes."

"I won't tell. I promise!" she pleaded. "Please don't Obliviate me. I could be a witness for you!"

The headmaster actually smiled indulgently at her stubborn insistence. Almost gently, he replied, "I know you wouldn't tell. You were always the strong one." He gazed down at her face, tipped trustingly up to his. His voice was like a whisper of silver. "You always were the clever one."

"I wish I could remember this," she whispered, as they stood up and he removed his heavy cloak from her shoulders. While he stroked her arms to keep her warm, she sobbed, "Because one day this will be over, and-"

"I know. Thank Merlin, it will all be over soon," he said soothingly. "Be well, Hermione." He stepped back, his eyes filling. "When we next meet, it will be the end. Fight well." He graced her with a sad smile. "I have no need to tell you to fight bravely, little lioness."

Hermione was crying so hard she could barely speak. "Be well, Severus Snape," she said. "Please don't walk into that last fight prepared to die. Please fight to live."

Snape shook his head, his eyes dull with sadness. "I fear we will not meet again this side of the veil."

From her vantage point in the memory, Hermione could see his hand shaking as he raised his wand to her forehead. "Obliviate!" echoed in the trees, and her memory-self grew still, her face blank.

The headmaster wove a complex symbol in the air over her head. "You will walk the night, checking your wards. You will not remember seeing me." His voice throbbed with unshed tears and regret. "You will forget me this night, Hermione Granger."

Hermione watched as her memory-self swayed a little, and he pressed his lips against her forehead for a final time. "Forget me, Hermione Granger," he whispered again, and he pressed his palm over her eyelids. When he removed his hand, her eyes were closed, and she looked as if she were asleep on her feet.

Headmaster Snape then placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around, until her back was to him, and again whispered, "Forget me."

The memory faded.

Raising their heads from the bowl, Hermione looked at Severus, her expression hurt and bewildered. Tears ran unchecked down her face. "And I did forget," she said. "Often. Even in the Shrieking Shack." Hermione sobbed, "Oh, Severus, it was so awful. We saw Nagini attack you, and it was terrible. And afterward, you were so pitiful, just lying there, dying."

She grew more agitated. "And I just walked away from that Shack as if nothing had happened!" She shook her head. "I didn't even remember you enough to try to go back to retrieve you."

Severus stood with his head bowed apologetically. His voice was calm, though immeasurably sad. "You were fighting for your life, Hermione. Your best friend and the father of your child died that night. I never blamed you for not coming back for me. I wasn't important."

"But you were!" she argued. "For years I kept thinking I had done something and forgot about it, or forgot to do something that I should have done. You didn't just make me forget that night in the Forest of Dean, Severus. You made me forget how important you were!"

Severus reluctantly met her gaze. His tone was resolute. "Hermione, seeing you in the forest that night gave me the strength to walk into the Shrieking Shack. When you approached me that night in the forest, I was so tired and weary of life." He took a deep breath, a stricken expression passing over his angular face. "There were times during that last year of the war I cannot swear I was strictly sane." He glanced at Minerva, who gave him an anguished look, and Hermione saw an old connection pass between the two former colleagues.

"And no, Minerva, I don't blame you, either. I had to say things, to do things that can never be forgiven. We all had our parts to play-"

"But if I had only known, Severus!" the headmistress interjected, shaking her head sadly. "We were so cruel to you that year. All of us, so blinded by Albus and his damned Greater Good."

Severus crossed over to Minerva and knelt by her chair. Hermione could not hear his words, so softly were they spoken, but his tone was calm, kind. Minerva lowered her head and cried, as Severus consoled his former rival and friend. Hermione stood apart from them and waited. This was a private moment between them in which she could contribute nothing.

Finally, Minerva looked up at Hermione with an apologetic wave of her hand. "I'm sorry, dear. When you get old and feeble you get overwrought so easily." She daubed her eyes. "Those were dark times. We treated him abominably, and Severus had every right to spit in our faces once the truth was finally known." She gave Severus a weak, watery smile, and patted his shoulder clumsily. "Poor wee thing."

Severus chuckled and rose to his feet, wincing as his knees popped in protest. "Less of the 'poor wee thing,' if you don't mind," he chastised, doing a fairly credible imitation of the headmistress' brogue. "Hermione has stuffed me with enough food to nourish the population of Hogsmeade. If she thinks I still look like a 'poor wee thing' she will start Imperusing me to eat more."

"As if she'd need to. I saw the way you tucked into those petit fours. You always did love the pink ones." She smiled at him. "You always had a harsh bark as well. It took some of us a little longer to understand it was hiding a tender heart." She winked at Hermione. "But that's a secret I'm not allowed to divulge."

Severus glanced at Hermione ruefully and rolled his eyes. "Oh, Gryffindors never repeat secrets, do they?" he grumbled. "They just make sure they're heard loud and clear the first time."

Minerva blew her nose. "Nonsense. It's no sin to have a soft heart, Severus." Her tone turned a little frosty, as she glanced at the sleeping portrait of Dumbledore. "It is a sin to take advantage of one," she said, shaking her head dolefully. "Those were terrible times, Severus. Looking back, I don't know how you didn't break."

"I did break, Minerva. I broke into so many pieces there was hardly anything left for the Dark Lord to kill, in the end." Something in her expression must have troubled him, and he tugged at his earlobe. "After I placed the sword where Potter would stumble over it, I was to return immediately to Hogwarts, but I couldn't bear the thought of it." A tender look crossed his stern features. "And then I felt your magic, Hermione, as I walked around. It was so..." He paused, trying to put feelings into words. "It was so protective and strong, and I thought, 'In all my life, no one has put so much effort in protecting me as Granger has in protecting Potter.'" His expression grew astonishingly wistful. "I broke that night. For a mad moment I just wanted to know what it felt like to be that loved and protected."

Hermione looked at Severus, who was gazing down at the swirling Pensieve. A glance at Minerva showed the same look of sorrow she knew she must be wearing. She leaned against his shoulder, stroking his arm, and he sighed. "And so I stepped through your wards. It was like wrapping a warm blanket around me, and it was... it was like home. It called to me like a beacon of light." He looked oddly contrite. "I just wanted to see you, to touch something that I hadn't tainted with my darkness. For one selfish, weak moment, I wanted to stay in that ward, forever protected, like Potter and Weasley."

Severus continued. "I knew confronting you was possibly the most foolish thing I'd ever done, but I couldn't help myself." He ducked his head, and the curtain of his hair hid his features. "For so long, all I had planned was my death. Duty and death. Spending those few stolen moments with you made me realise I didn't want to die. For that brief time, life seemed unbearably sweet." He looked away. "I had no illusions. I knew that I was not supposed to survive, you see. You made me long for yet another thing I could never have. Hope."

He looked into her eyes, and Hermione had never seen such bleak regret. "I had to forget hope. And in order to do that, I had to make you forget me."

Hermione felt Minerva press a handkerchief into her fumbling hands. Wiping her eyes, she mourned, "Oh, Severus, it's so sad! I understand why you did it, but it's so heartbreaking. You were so alone." And I wasn't allowed to remember that you kissed me. I would never have wanted to forget that.

"It was a very selfish thing," he admitted reluctantly. He looked up and squinted, as he had that night. "It was so quiet there, and talking with you, knowing you were alive and safe; it was the only thing that gave me any comfort or peace that entire year."

Hermione looked down at the swirling Pensieve, her expression inconsolable. "All these years I thought I was the most thoughtless, selfish git on the planet." She started slightly. Almost to herself, she murmured, "You know, something else bothers me. Why on earth didn't Harry remember to check on you, either? You never Obliviated him."

Severus was still for a moment. "Because he's a thoughtless, selfish git?"

Hermione stared at him in surprise, then laughed in spite of the situation. "Oh, he's not that bad, honestly! He's tried so hard to be so many things to so many people."

Severus held out his hand. "I haven't done myself any favours, Hermione. I wallowed in self-pity, thinking I would be satisfied when I had nothing left. It turns out that when I reached that point I realised how much I wanted everything I'd walked away from." He looked into her lovely eyes. "I'm sorry I Obliviated you. I did us both a disservice." He shook his head. "Please forgive me."

"I do forgive you, Severus." She daubed her eyes with Minerva's handkerchief again. "I saw a lot of things that year I wish I could forget, but you weren't one of them. Thank you for giving that memory back to me." She put her arms around him, and he allowed himself to be comforted. His arms felt different, and it dawned on Hermione that, unlike that grief-stricken night in the Forest of Dean, this time she could provide him with exactly what he needed.

Over her shoulder, Severus looked down at Minerva, who was watching him carefully. She gave him a look that said, "This is good, boy. I approve. Try to enjoy something for once in your life."

Or at least, he told himself that's what her look meant.

That evening, after they returned from Hogwarts, Rose noticed that Mr. Snape and her mother were strangely quiet. It wasn't a bad quiet, like they'd had an argument. It was a calm sort of quiet; it made the house seem peaceful. Rose watched him very carefully as they played their nightly game of chess.

Halfway through the game, her mother brought them both a drink - a mug of cocoa for her, and a cup of tea for Mr. Snape. As she sat the cups on the table, Mum stroked Rose's hair, like always, and as she passed Mr. Snape, she put a hand on his shoulder. To Rose's surprise, he looked up at her mum with an odd sort of look on his face. Odd, but nice. It reminded Rose of how Poppy Weasley sometimes looked at Grana Molly. Mr. Snape then placed his own hand over her mum's, and held it for a moment, before returning his attention back to Rose and their game.

Rose smiled at him affectionately, and let him win.