6/7: The Guilt of Atonement

A/N: These characters are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I make no money from this story and claim no rights. Nothing you recognise belongs to me.

Great thanks to Voxangelus, who graciously stepped in as a fresh pair of eyes, and took a lot of pressure off, just because she liked the story.

She awoke with a start. The sun was shining through the grubby windows; she could hear birdsong outside. A comforting hand was stroking her cheek, her hair; gently, almost lovingly. Sensitive, familiar fingers were gliding over her eyebrows, her jawline. For a moment, she leaned into them; such tenderness and kindness felt so welcome after the last week...

Hermione threw the duvet from her body and started to rise, then froze. Snape was sitting on the bed, watching her, his expression agonizingly miserable. He was fully dressed.

She could taste fear, slick and rancid in her mouth, and finally Hermione found the courage to sit up and face him.

Snape held out his hand to stop her. "Stay where you are," he said, his deep voice tired and flat. Hermione looked at him carefully. He looked dreadfully ill. His skin looked like old parchment. His black, black eyes, enormous and bleak, looked like burned out lava, staring out from a face that was waxy and greenish in the light. The circles under his eyes were almost as dark as bruises. Hermione was alarmed at his appearance.

"Sir, are you alright?" she said, shivering, her body suddenly covered in goosebumps. Snape regarded her thoughtfully, then grasped the duvet, and Hermione braced herself for whatever was to come. At this point, she envisioned a beating, a command to cook breakfast; sex...

Instead of any of a dozen things Hermione had anticipated, Snape merely wrapped the duvet around her more securely, and said in a voice she had never heard, "Lie back, Miss Granger, if you wish. You are cold and no doubt, weak. You've been asleep for almost two days." He turned away. "I promise upon my wand you will come to no more harm at my hand."

He handed her a pint glass of luminous, orange liquid, and she looked at him warily. He coloured, shame clearly written on his face. "It's only Lucozade, a Muggle drink. Your system has been unbalanced by all of the – the potions I've forced upon you. I thought this might help restore some salts and electrolytes to your body." He grimaced. "I thought, in light of recent events, giving you any restorative potions was... inadvisable, not to mention poor taste."

Cautiously, Hermione sipped the contents of the glass. It was marvelously cold, and although Lucozade had never been her Muggle drink of choice, it tasted wonderful in her parched mouth. She gulped it noisily, and Snape watched her carefully, guilt and remorse clouding his features. Something else fleeted fitfully across his face, like clouds scudding across a dark sky; affection, protectiveness, fondness; something like all of those things, but at the same time, nothing like any of those things.

When Hermione had emptied the glass, Snape took it from her and sat it back on the bedside table. Hermione licked her lips and relaxed somewhat; she did feel better.

As she settled down, Snape regarded her carefully. He touched her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her, and thereby comforting himself. Hermione stole a glance at his face. He looked so fragile Hermione felt pity well in her breast. She tried to squelch it, but he was like a condemned man, innocent and guilty at once. She considered all she knew about him, and herself, and she could not quite bring herself to hate him. At this precise moment, he was hating himself enough for the both of them.

Shivering even harder from consuming the cold beverage, Hermione burrowed back under the duvet. She lay on her side, looking up at him. He looked truly awful; he was drawn and hunched, as if bleeding from an internal wound. It frightened her.

"Sir, are you sure I can't – " Hermione hesitated, trying to gauge his reaction. "Can I get you something, sir? Anything? A cup of tea?"

To her surprise, he laughed, a harsh, desolate sound. He looked away. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Hermione hesitated again. He had once used questions like this to test her, and every answer was the wrong one. "I – you – you look like you need something, sir."

For the first time since the night Harry and Ron died, Snape looked at her, really looked at her, and into her. What's more, he allowed her to look into him. He sighed. "You cannot help me, Miss Granger. I am lost. Only a lost man would do what I've done to you." He looked away for a moment. "I made a brave, frightened, innocent girl pay for sins I committed. I damaged you in ways that are more criminal than anything the Dark Lord has ever done."

"But sir, Malfoy – "

"Malfoy did not set you to hard, manual labor while refusing to let you wear clothing. Malfoy did not beat you, or verbally abuse and debase you. Malfoy was not here to force potions down your throat. Malfoy did not force me to sexually assault you, over and over. I knew what I was doing, Miss Granger, and it is no excuse to say I was coerced or compelled to do them. The fact is that I took pleasure in those things."

He made himself look her in the eye as punishment. "I cared for you so much. I listened every day to Headmaster Black, regaling me with tales of your cleverness and bravery. I found myself longing to join the three of you just to be near you. And how do I repay you? By making you do heinous things with me." He looked away. "It doesn't matter that my feelings for you were twisted and perverted by circumstances beyond my control. I can never forgive myself for allowing them to happen. You were innocent, and I am lost."

Hermione sat up, the covers still wrapped around her body. For several seconds the room was quiet except for their breathing. "We're both lost, sir." She smiled wearily. "I accepted these things because I thought I deserved them."

He made a wry face. "That makes no fucking sense whatsoever, Granger. Stop spouting bullshit. It doesn't become you. I know. I had to put up with it for six years."

Hermione felt a laugh bubble up into her mouth. "Well, at least I know Professor Snape is still in there."

He scowled at her. "It's not amusing, Miss Granger. It's tragic. We are a tragedy of epic proportions that I have created and cannot repair."

Hermione was thoughtful for a moment. Slowly, as if her words were being chosen very carefully, she replied, "I cannot allow myself to think we are beyond repair, sir. If I start to think that way, I may start crying, and who knows if I'll ever stop."

She sighed; it was a sound that made a chill run down his spine. Finally, she said, "For so long, we had been on the run. I was so sick of trying to keep everything together! We were so afraid all the time – and then Ron would whine, and Harry would try to keep the peace, and I was just tired of playing den mother. I wanted to stop, and just be me again. I wanted to take a proper bath, and sleep in a comfortable bed, and eat food I hadn't made myself and had to listen to Ron complain that it wasn't as good as his mum's."

Severus felt a swift protectiveness for her. "I don't know. I think you are an acceptable cook."

Her reaction to his diffident praise was astonishing. She beamed at him. "Thank you." She looked down, and worried a loose thread on the duvet cover with her fingers. "But this is the problem, you see. My need for praise, my need to be the best at everything. I felt I was failing. I couldn't figure out the location of the Horcruxes quickly enough. I was trying to keep us all safe and sane and not at one another's throats." She looked into his eyes. "I wanted to be a normal person with a normal life. I wanted to just toss the reins to someone else and let them take over."

Tears filled her eyes. "That day in Canterbury, when you showed up with Malfoy, I knew I should be more cautious, but all I could think of was, 'thank the gods, someone's come to take over and I don't have to do this anymore.'" She was crying openly. "I was supposed to be there for Harry, but the first familiar face I saw, I gave in to, because I was so sick and tired of being on the run!"

"You are little more than a child, Miss – "

"No, I'm not!" she said, angry and remorseful, and her vitriol surprised him. "I was old enough to go on the run to try to keep him alive, I was old enough to know danger, I was old enough to take care of them."

"Fighting one's fear and exhaustion is not a question of maturity, Miss Granger. You were living and breathing constant fear and pressure. I admire you that you lasted as long as you did."

"Well, don't. I didn't last long enough." She sniffed, and Snape silently handed her a snowy handkerchief. She took it with a little gesture of thanks. She blew her nose, and Severus could see the fight was waning in her. "When I realized you had deceived me, I knew the boys were dead. I thought we all were. So, when you chose me on the Night of Screams, I told myself that, whatever you would do to me, I deserved it and more for being so weak. My selfishness cost Harry and Ron their lives. I thought I deserved everything you did. But then something happened."

Severus waited, afraid of what she would say. She started haltingly. "When you touched me, that first night, I was too traumatized by the... well, what had happened. Then you gave me the lust potions." He stiffened, and his shoulders automatically hunched as if anticipating a physical blow.

"I know it was the potions, but it felt real. And the things you did felt real, and pleasurable, and I wanted them. Even when the potions wore off, I wanted you to touch me, to make me feel that pleasure again. It became an addiction; I told myself it was just the potions, but you stopped giving me potions days ago, didn't you?"

He nodded. "The last time I gave you a lust potion was the day you had a seizure."

"I thought so. I know how lust potions work, Professor. They don't linger in the system; they don't have any residual or lasting effects after they dissipate. I was aroused by what you did."

Hermione forced herself to look at him. "Last night, when you said we needed no potions to arouse one another, you were right. You only had to look at me and I became wet. I'm practically Pavlovian, the way I respond to you." She made a wry face. "We would have made a great sociological study, you and I."

"Granger, please!" he said, guilt twisting his guts into ropes.

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "So I would try so hard to please you because I didn't want you to stop." She looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. "I still don't. If you touched me right now, I would give myself to you because I want it. I desire you, even now, even though I know you don't really want me the same way as I want you."

Severus felt his stomach lurch. That hurt, right down into his shriveled kernel of a soul. He forced himself to say, "You only think you desire me, Granger."

She scoffed. "To quote a phrase, sir: I see no difference." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus heard himself saying those words, and he associated them with her, but for the life of him, he could not remember why or in what context. That thought depressed him. He had come to treasure all of his thoughts about her until the Night of Screams.

He could not talk to her about this now. It would force him to admit that he, too, desired her, wanted more than anything to pull back the covers and make love to her. He was no longer interested in games or power. He wanted to bury himself in her warm sweet body and cherish her, pleasure her and feel cleansed by her. He couldn't talk about it now.

Snape finally looked at her. For a moment, he thought he might cry himself. He squared his shoulders, as if steeling himself for an unpleasant task, and cleared his throat. "I have a secret, Hermione. You are the only one I can tell."

Hermione waited, her fear ramping up a notch.

He began. "The Dark Lord is pruning the Ministry, so that he can begin his new Wizarding world here in England. I've been told to go to Belgium to the Wizarding European Union to act as an envoy. That was what Lucius came here to tell me. It is a great honour to represent the Dark Lord." He took a deep breath.

"The truth is it is also a way to get me out of the picture, out of the constellation of power. No one trusts me. I am obsolete, now that – that Potter is dead, and my influence over the Dark Lord is neither wanted nor considered necessary. Consequently, it is an assignment I cannot refuse, or I will be seen as disobeying the Dark Lord, and I will be killed."

Hermione felt her heart slam into her chest. He was leaving her.

He looked off into the distance. "The further I am from the Dark Lord physically, the less his power can affect me. If I can escape to Australia, I believe I can disappear." He waved his elegant hand in her general direction. "I can get away; I can escape from all this, Miss Granger."

She nodded, dying in her own skin. He was running away and leaving her.

He looked into her eyes. "I'm leaving this afternoon. I'm never returning to Wizarding Britain. I'm running away like the coward I accused you of being; like the coward I have always been."

He looked away and closed his eyes. "Since the day Potter was born, I made a vow to Dumbledore to protect Lily's son, and in one unguarded moment, I set off the chain of events that led to Potter's death by betraying you. Perhaps, one day I can learn to live with what I have done. I don't know."

Leaving me, she thought. He's going to let me take the fall.

He looked at her. "Of course, you are coming with me. I will not leave you behind. I have to find some means of atonement for what I've done to you. Even if it's just to take you somewhere safe from harm, where you'll have the chance to lead that normal life you so longed for."

She tried to not let her relief show, but she knew immediately he had seen it. He laughed again; it sounded like the harsh bark of a wolf. "And here you were thinking I was leaving you to be the Dark Lord's whipping boy for me, perhaps to deliver you into the tender bosom of Lucius Malfoy and his whelp?"

He glanced away. "Well, why not? What have I done to make you think otherwise?"

Hermione felt her heart stutter in her chest. "If we go to Australia, sir, would we really be safe? My parents were there, and now they're dead."

He looked at her with surprise, then shame. "They're not dead."

Hermione gasped, and the smile she gave him was like the sun breaking from the clouds. "They're alive? Oh, thank Merlin!" The look of relief and joy on her face made him turn away, guilt making his chest ache.

He lowered his head. "I told you that to hurt you. No one honestly had a clue where they were." He added hastily, "Come to think on it, why are your parents living in Australia?"

She swallowed. "I modified their memories last summer, and planted a memory that they'd always dreamed of selling their practice and moving there. I thought it might be a way to protect them, in case the worst should happen." She smiled sadly. "They won't remember me. I thought that would be the best thing, in case I didn't survive."

He looked at her thoughtfully, respectfully. "That was exceedingly courageous of you, Miss Granger, not to mention damn clever. It also may very well have saved their lives. They were rather high on the list of targeted Muggles." He nodded, and a ghost of a smile played across his lips. "Quite clever, indeed. Then again, over the years I have come to expect nothing less of you. I know you don't believe me, but I have always admired your resourcefulness. You are a fine witch, and a brave and beautiful young woman." He looked down, but not before Hermione saw the bitter self-loathing in his eyes. "For a time, I was not allowed to remember that."

At his rare, though cryptic words of praise, Hermione beamed at him, and he felt he might have just taken his first baby steps toward some sort of redemption.

Hermione felt her heart swell, and reluctantly considered forgiveness again. To quell her impulsive thoughts, she added. "Perhaps the two of us could find them and restore their memories. I have their aliases; we could start from there and look for them."

He considered. "We would have to live as Muggles for a time. Perhaps the rest of our lives."

Hermione ventured a smile. "I grew up as a Muggle, sir – "

Snape made a noise in his throat. "My name is Severus," he ground out. "Don't ever call me 'sir' again." He looked at her, then coloured. "Please."

Hermione nodded, hearing the apology in his tone. "I grew up as a Muggle, Severus. I wouldn't have any trouble reverting back."

He regarded her with a look of respect. "Then, perhaps we can devise a real plan."

"Perhaps, Severus." Hermione sat up a little straighter. "I will go with you on one condition."

His black eyes slid between luxurious long lashes, to rest on her face. Again, an unfathomable expression brushed across his face. It was a certain rueful admiration; perhaps even a touch of resigned affection.

"Five minutes in charge, and you're already forming a plan. And taking over." Even as he spoke, his haughty attitude faded, as if it required more energy to maintain than he was able to produce. "Then again, I am hardly inclined to refuse you any request."

His acquiescence emboldened her, and she pressed on. "I happen to think I'm entitled to make this one, Severus. I will go with you on one condition."

He looked at her, his unreadable expression carefully slotted back in place. "And that condition being?"

She felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She took a deep breath. "No more potions. No lust potions, no Polyjuice, no more pretending - whatever it is you were pretending." She took a deep breath. "No more blame. We've both been damaged – we both have reason to blame ourselves." Severus lowered his gaze, and Hermione continued, softly, "We have to try to forgive one another. Perhaps we try to forgive ourselves."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You've done nothing to be forgiven, Miss Granger. I have been the unforgivable one. I understand a little more my actions and motivations, but they do not change the fact that I did unspeakable things to you."

Hermione nodded. "I accepted them because I wanted to let someone else take over the task I had been given. No one made me do that, either. I can't say how I would have treated you if the shoe was on the other foot, Severus. I'd like to think I would've done things differently. But I haven't spent the last three years dancing with the Devil, like you." She shrugged. "Who knows? It doesn't matter. I'll go with you as your companion. We will learn each other from the outside in."

She had always been one for lost causes, and there were none more lost now than herself and Severus Snape. "And down the road, if we become real l-lovers, it will be because we both want it, not because of any potion or punishment."

For the first time in her life, Hermione thought she might have rendered him speechless. He looked at her with bleak incredulity. "Why on earth would you entertain the thoughts of becoming my lover, Miss Granger? I have taken you against your will, using mood altering drugs; I have repeatedly hurt and beat and humiliated you over a fucking lie!"

This time, Hermione recognised the sudden, swift anger as self-directed. Yes, she was definitely thinking again. "You have, Severus. And at the time you enjoyed doing it." Hermione shrugged. "I enjoyed it at times, I won't lie to you. We both did things that led to the death of innocent people. Harry and Ron were my friends, and no matter how you say it, I let my guard drop because I wanted to drop it. At least you have the excuse that Malfoy somehow confounded you.

"I'm no psychologist; I'll leave that research for another time." She tapped her temple with her index finger. "For a person known for my intellectual prowess, I've done precious little thinking with this over the last week. It feels good to think again, to plan again."

She blushed suddenly, as if she realised the other parts of her body which had been driving her actions, and Severus found it rather touching that, after all that had happened to her, she still was innocent and sweet enough to blush.

His sex games had originally been a means to control and subjugate her; but the deepest part of his heart was invested more than he was prepared to admit. What had started as a way to protect her from the Death Eaters morphed into a game of desire and dominance and emotions he could not understand; emotions that drove him to humiliate and hurt her. It had become a complicated mess inside his head; a minefield of infatuation and tenderness warring with an irrational, heretofore unfathomable hatred and vengeance.

When she spoke of them becoming real lovers, his traitorous heart had bloomed with a painful, sticky hope. It was too much to ask for, but he knew he would nevertheless ask for it. He had no pride left to bruise.

She sobered, and pressed on. "But this is my condition: if you actually think there will come a day when you feel enough remorse to ask for forgiveness, then I will come with you, and I might entertain the thought of forgiving you. And making a relationship with you. As equals. We're all we've got now. I'd rather go with you than go our separate ways. Two heads, and all that."

She felt tears falling again, and for the first time since the Night of Screams they felt good, like another poison being purged from her system. "You are all that's left of what I knew, all that was once good and light to me – Hogwarts. You are part and parcel of everything about innocence and magic and light. You were an unpleasant part of it most of the time, but an important part nevertheless.

"I don't know what Malfoy did to make you betray your own soul, but if we can figure it out together, I can learn to forgive you, and you can forgive yourself." She nodded, her chin lifting in defiance. "Who knows? One day, we may even figure a way to win."

He opened his mouth to speak, and she rushed in, before he could interrupt her. "And my name is Hermione. I want you to call me Hermione."

Snape's mouth twitched. "I believe that is more than one condition, Hermione. But in light of recent events, I am inclined to show generosity of spirit."

Hermione blinked, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Snape was making a joke. And it meant nothing more than an attempt at humour.

He nodded. "So now we move on. I do have many things to tell you, but they will take longer than we need right now." Again, that almost-smile. "I know a great deal more now about what happened on the Night of Screams. Perhaps once you've heard the entire story, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You might even find a way to show me how to forgive myself."

"Then tell me over breakfast." She smiled at him again, and it was all he could do not to fall at her feet and kiss them. Instead, Snape sat in his chair, looking at the long red streak on the faded duvet cover, as if memorizing it. Under the bloodstain, he could see the soft glistening of starch sliding over the fabric; Hermione's task on day five. He stood, and straightened his coat. He looked down at Hermione, his expression unreadable.

And then he pressed something into her hand. It was her wand. He stepped back, his expression placid, accepting, and laid his own wand on the bed beside her. "If you wish to use it on me, I will not hinder you. I deserve nothing less than your retaliation."

Hermione sighed, looking down at the wand. "Severus, that may just well be the start of me forgiving you." She stood up. "And the start of forgiving myself for allowing it to happen." It was her turn to look shamed.

"I developed feelings for you. Attraction and desire, obviously, but they were always tainted with fear and mistrust. I had always admired you, and wanted to please you, even thought it was obvious you couldn't stand me; all of those emotions became jumbled up in this bed." The look of shame on his face was almost unbearable.

Her voice trembled slightly. "Some of it was manufactured by the potions and your own manipulations, but it all felt real to me. A lot of it still does. I have to figure out what's real, and what I can attribute to outside influences. And what I can purge from my system, and what I want to keep."

Hermione saw a dozen emotions flit across his features. Shame was among them. Gratitude made an appearance, as did hope and respect. He held out his hand, and to his profound relief, she took it. He was so grateful he brought it to his lips, and his heart cramped, looking at her broken, chipped nails, the pads of her fingertips, roughened from the long week of hard, back-breaking work.

"I never 'couldn't stand you', Hermione. You must believe me. If you take away nothing else from this bed, know that."

She regarded him carefully. "Thank you, Severus. That helps." She smiled, and that seemed to comfort him somewhat.

"Then we will leave this place after lunch, Hermione." He drew the duvet aside, and looked down at her with quiet, tired dignity. "I have taken the liberty of packing your clothes, but I have prepared something for you to wear on the journey." With a quick wave of his wand, Hermione felt her body gently cleansed. Magic washed her softly, soothingly. It was a spell used to clean babies, and it felt as comforting as a mother's touch.

Then, for the first time in over a week, her body was encased in clothes. They were comfortable, warm, clean-smelling and rode against her skin perfectly. Even the colour pleased her.

She grinned at him, feeling giddy and foolish that the simple act of wearing clothing could please her so much. His expression indicated that he seemed to understand. As she turned toward the door, he stopped her, and to her surprise, he gently cupped her face in his large hands.

She looked up at him, and the trust he saw in her eyes made his chest ache. "If I begged your forgiveness, would you truly grant it, Hermione? Truly?"

She could barely make herself think the words, much less say them. "Are you begging, Severus?"

He was breathing hard; Hermione realised he was weeping again. "Yes." His lower lip trembled like a child's, and she knew he was as overwhelmed as she. To her surprise, he leaned forward, and kissed her forehead, and that kiss told her many things about him she had never known until that moment.

He kissed her nose, and gently touched his lips to hers; it was their first real kiss, and it was as innocent as they had ever been or would ever be again. He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice harsh and desperate. "I'm so, so sorry, Hermione."

He was holding her close, his face buried in her hair, and Hermione put her arms around him, unable to harden her resolve against his helplessness. "I know," she crooned, rubbing his back, which made him cry harder. "It will be alright, Severus. We will find our way." She felt her own eyes filling again, and prayed to the gods that she was right.

"Please forgive me." He slid down until he was on his knees, rolling his forehead against her stomach, his arms like a vice around her waist. "Please."

"I do." To her dismay, he dropped to her feet and kissed them. She could feel his tears dropping onto her bare feet. "Don't do this, Severus!" She pulled the once-proud man onto his feet. "It's not fitting." Hermione's tears joined with his, and as they held one another again, they gave rein to their grief.

Severus' voice shook with his sobs. "I'm so ashamed! I will never hurt you again!"

"I know," she soothed. "We'll be alright, Severus. Shhh. It's alright. Shh."

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you." For a long time, man and woman, wizard and witch, jailer and prisoner, Death Eater and Light bearer, stood together, trying to give comfort and peace to one another. Gradually, their tears ceased, their emotions dulled and calmed, and they now faced one another, equals, partners, comrades, crusaders.

When they were able, Hermione took Severus' hand, and together they walked downstairs to breakfast.

An hour before Hermione had awakened to find Severus stroking her cheek, Lucius Malfoy felt his wards shimmer, and recognised Severus' magical signature.

"Good morning, old friend!" Malfoy smiled, trying not to reveal his surprise and trepidation. "Always a pleasure, even at this early hour. Out and about, readying your affairs for Europe?"

Snape brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his immaculate robes. He drawled, "Indeed, Brother. I'm merely running errands and wished to say my goodbyes to you and your family while I had the chance."

Lucius relaxed somewhat. "I shall be more than happy to convey your wishes to Narcissa; she and Draco are visiting her sister. I expect them back tomorrow."

Inwardly, Snape smirked; Lucius' dislike for his unstable sister-in-law was well known. "Ah, then, I shall not keep you. Farewell, Brother." Snape held out his hand, and Lucius shook it once.

"Farewell –" Using his grip, Severus yanked Malfoy forward, until his wand was pointing between the blond man's eyes.

"Legilimens!" Snape roared, battering through Malfoy's mind, ripping away at the aristocrat's consciousness until he found what he sought: The two of them, standing in an alley in Canterbury.

Snape, turning to him, saying, "I sense nothing here that remotely resembles their - "

Indeed, Severus had behaved exactly as Lucius had anticipated. What he had not planned on was Severus choosing the girl as his spoil of war. It had complicated things a bit, but Malfoy had not had time to worry about it. He was trying to secure his Lord's victory, and therefore his own place in the history of it...

Severus watched, sickened, as the events unfolded in Lucius' memory:

When he informed Severus that Hermione Granger had betrayed her friends in exchange for her own life, Severus had been contemptuous but unsurprised, to Malfoy's relief. By the time the memory modification started to fade, Lucius had set the wheels in motion to get Snape into Europe and out of the way; it was too late for Severus to do or say anything that would threaten his position in the hierarchy of power. Lucius had, in his mind, managed the cleverest leg-pull of the war.

Later, when their fellow Death Eaters congratulated Severus, he smiled at them modestly, but Malfoy could sense his confusion. He let Severus stew, knowing that Snape could not afford to reveal his uncertainty to the Dark Lord. It would all be over in a couple of weeks, give or take the time for the memory modification to fade.

Snape pulled from Malfoy's mind with a great, ripping fury. The two wizards faced each other, panting; one from the rape of his mind, the other from his chilling anger. Snape snatched Malfoy's cane and removed the wand from its core.

He pointed it calmly at the blond man, fully intending to kill him with his own wand, but something in the older man's face stopped him. Snape hissed, "Why, Lucius?"

Malfoy, his eyes blank with fear, shook his head. "Why?" His glacial eyes grew even colder. "You were on the knife edge of being killed by the Dark Lord! He didn't trust you, even after you killed Dumbledore! I had to do something to restore his faith in you. If the girl was ever questioned, which she was, she could say truthfully that you had played your part in betraying Potter." He huffed, "I thought it was a jolly clever idea on my part; you could show a little gratitude for all my hard work."

Snape stared at Malfoy for several minutes. His head reeled with what had transpired. "Why would you bother to save my worthless skin, Lucius? You were ever jealous of my position with the Dark Lord – why would you go to such extreme measures to secure it?"

Malfoy looked at him incredulously. A bit of the strain around Lucius' eyes softened. "Draco. I did it for Draco. You saved him." His voice shook with emotion. "You killed Dumbledore to save my only son -"

Snape bit back the retort that sat behind his teeth. It was bitter as gall, and he knew revealing the truth would undo everything Lucius had done. Merlin, all the wrong things had been done for the right reasons.

The two men looked at one another, and Lucius slumped weakly in his chair. In spite of the early hour, Malfoy splashed brandy from a decanter into a glass and took a large gulp. He choked, "You saved Draco from the Dark Lord. So I saved you from the Dark Lord." He made an impatient gesture. "And you finally got your hands on the little Mudblood chit – there's never been any love lost between you; everyone knew that."

Severus felt his lips go numb. Now he and Hermione would both be remembered as traitors to the light. Hermione, Hermione... Through gritted teeth, he replied, "When you look at it that way, Lucius..."

"Exactly! And now we're even."

Malfoy took another drink of brandy, and held up his long, thin hand. "Don't worry; I've told no one; not even Cissy has any inkling you aren't exactly the hero I made you out to be." His smile was positively beatific. "It'll be our little secret, Brother. No real need for anyone else to know, is there?"

Snape looked down at one of the few people he could ever remember calling a friend, and shook his head.

You've damned my soul, Lucius. You told me I hated a young woman I secretly admired and cared for, so I brutalized her even as the deepest part of my soul fought me and almost destroyed my sanity and her life. And you used me to murder the one hope we had of putting this madness behind us. Now, no matter what happens, in the eyes of the Wizarding world I will forever be known as the man who orchestrated the death of Harry Potter, and Hermione will be forever branded as the lynchpin to his capture.

Severus felt sick with remorse. He said tightly, "You should have let the game play until its logical conclusion, Lucius. We have innocent blood on our hands."

Malfoy shook his head and shrugged indifferently. "All blood is innocent, Severus. Only the heart that pumps it has a conscious will to serve either the Dark or the Light. Besides, history will write you as a hero to the Glorious Revolution."

"If the Dark Lord reigns supreme."

Malfoy crossed his legs, brushing a long blond hair from the leg of his trousers. "Merely thinking that way could get you killed, no matter where you are, Severus. Besides, I couldn't take that risk. Our survival is paramount; we are, after all, dedicated in the service of the Dark Lord."

He took another drink; a slow sip this time, savouring the fiery liquid. "Let it go, my friend. What's done is done. No need to thank me." He lifted his glass in tribute. "We Malfoys look after their own."

Severus looked down at his friend. Finally, he nodded. "Yes, you do. I suppose I really do owe you, don't I?" he added, grimly.

Lucius waved his hand idly. "Let us speak no more of debts, old friend. We've no time for finger-pointing, in any case. There is much work to be done for the Dark Lord. Let us play our roles, and keep our hearts secret to all but ourselves."

Snape gave a little bow. "Of course, Lucius. Look after your own. And I will look after mine."

He smiled as he raised his wand. "Mensimperio Maximus!"

The next afternoon, long after Severus Snape had disappeared unexpectedly, taking his slave with him to parts unknown, Narcissa Malfoy returned with her son to her husband's home. Not finding him in the drawing room, she knocked on his study door, and receiving no answer, walked in to find him staring into the fire, a bemused expression on his face, toying idly with his cane, studying the silver serpent's head. With the firelight flickering over his features, his profile looked different, strange.

Narcissa smiled uneasily. "Luc?" He made no move.

She approached him, and looked down in horror to see blood on his long, thin hands. A magical dagger sat on the table; a hand mirror lay beside it. Both were also smeared with blood.

Narcissa looked at her husband's handsome face and recoiled in revulsion, crying, "Lucius! Sweet Nimue, what has happened to you?" The man sitting in the chair calmly looked up at his wife, as if he had no idea what she meant. A rather vacant smile played about his lips.

Two words had been carved into his forehead with the dagger. Debt Cancelled.

"Lucius?" He smiled, his eyes guileless and innocent. "Is that my name?"