The Best Of Memories

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author's note: And all my thanks belong to Annie Talbot and Losille for their wonderful hand-holding.

Snape paced his office with long strides, trying to diminish the slow burning anger searing the pit of his stomach. He needed to calm down before he could Floo the old man to return his Pensieve along with his latest report on Potter's progress in Occlumency.

Progress. Snape snorted, and the anger flared again. It would be a short report, short and simple and devastating as there was no progress; simply not an ounce of noticeable progress in over three unfortunate months. Instead, night after night the boy was advancing further into the Department of Mysteries, lured by the Dark Lord's invisible call.

The vulnerability of Potter's mind endangered everything: the Order, their cause. His position as spy – and as a minor causality his life – would be forfeit should the Dark Lord ever discover glimpses of his Occlumency lessons with the boy through their connection.

However, the boy hadn't even begun to comprehend that there were people out there who risked their necks to save his unworthy one.

Running a restless hand through his hair, Snape sank with his back flat against the cool stone wall of his office as he heard a familiar, impatient voice echoing through the oak of the door next to him.

"Vince, what the hell are you waiting for? Umbridge called us minutes ago."

Draco. The boy had to be standing just outside in the hallway. Snape moved closer to the ancient wood, his hand already on the door handle.

"I'm coming." Crabbe's grunt was almost swallowed by the loud thuds of his footfalls, resounding with the walls of the dungeons. Instinctively, Snape used the moment to push his office door slightly ajar. A second later a small group of Slytherins passed by, and his frown deepened. Umbridge was gathering her Inquisitorial Squad.

And once again, it was Draco's voice that commanded the group, "Hurry up, all of you. This time we'll get Potter, Weasel King and their Mudblood."

...their Mudblood. Snape's fingers curled tighter around the door handle, and for a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut. Hearing the fateful word, spoken with such contempt by a young man who had grown up under his wing, was disappointing, even hurtful. However, hearing it for the first time consciously with reference to a young woman who had shown him nothing but unconditional kindness stabbed into the ancient wound close to his heart that refused to heal.

Meanwhile outside Goyle rasped, "You're sure?" as he tried to keep up with the others.

"Yeah, Edgecombe finally spilled where they gather. We'll just need to catch them when..."

The rest of Draco's sentence was lost, as the group had eventually moved out of earshot, but he didn't need to hear more. It was plainly obvious to what Draco had referred. Cursing under his breath, he closed the door again. During several Occlumency lessons, when he had probed the boy's mind, he had found random scenes of Potter teaching a bunch of students somewhere in the accursed castle – not that the old man had ever found it necessary to interfere with this lunacy – and he was certain that one of those students had been Marietta Edgecombe.

Damn you, Potter. Kneading his neck with one hand, Snape tried to collect his thoughts. He needed to warn the boy, needed to warn Miss Granger, and right now, he didn't even know where to find them. His only chance was that the Potter-besotted house-elf the headmaster had assigned him would know more about it.

"Dobby," he barked, and within seconds said house-elf appeared next to him with a quiet pop.

"Professor Snape has called Dobby, sir?"

"Dobby, do you know where Harry Potter is right now, where he teaches his friends?"

The elf took a step backwards, giving him a hesitant nod, "I is not telling Harry Potter's secrets, not even to Professor Snape, sir."

Snape suppressed a snort and crouched down, meeting the elf's eyes on equal level. "Dobby, you must go and warn Harry Potter. Professor Umbridge knows his secret. She is coming for him and his friends."

The urgency in his voice was plain, and in front of him, already large eyes widened fearfully. The elf nodded, and Snape added quickly, "And Dobby, you must not reveal that I sent you. That's an order. Do you hear me?" Another nod and within seconds another quiet pop filled the air. The elf was gone.

Heaving a breath, Snape turned towards the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames. "Headmaster's office," he called out, and a moment later, "Albus, are you there?"

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames. "I already expected..."

"Umbridge knows about Potter's teaching activities, Albus. At this moment, she and her pursuers are out to catch him," Snape said, trying to preserve the indifferent note in his voice.

The old man in front of him closed his eyes for a small eternity, looking every bit his 119 years, exhausted from carrying the weight of the world.

"I sent the elf to warn them," he added, observing the headmaster's pale, wrinkled face. "Although I can't guarantee it was in time."

"Thank you, Severus. I shall be prepared in any case," Dumbledore said, already retreating from the flames.

The flames flickered out, and a cheerless laugh caught in Snape's throat; an unpleasant sound echoing through the silence of his office as he leaned with outstretched arms against the mantelpiece.

Prepared? Not this time, Albus. By calling on Educational Decree Number Twenty-four, Fudge would have the boy expelled before the first light of day touched the horizon. This time, not even the old man would be able to prevent it, when Umbridge got hold of Potter... of Miss Granger.

The frown between Snape's brows deepened. No, not when, if Umbridge got hold of them... Maybe there was still a chance to keep the headmaster's precious little Gryffindors out of harm's way; maybe not everything was lost tonight.

With long, swift strides, he crossed the room, robes billowing behind him as rushed out of his office and into the dungeons.

"This isn't over yet, Granger. Do you hear me? Umbridge will learn that you were part of this," Pansy's angry voice haunted Hermione as she fled from the Prefects' bathroom, her knees weak with fear.

But she ran, ran so fast her lungs hurt, and she didn't dare to stop, not even for a moment, to catch a breath. Pansy, and probably the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad, would be right on her heels the moment she countered the Jelly-Legs Jinx. It had been sheer luck that Hermione had even been able to cast it in the first place.

Her eyes flew down the hallway. It seemed so long, so very long. If only she could make it to the staircase without being seen, from there on it would be only a short distance to the library on the fourth floor. Among the students there, she could vanish; there she would be safe.

Anxiously, she risked a glance over her shoulder, trying to make out if her head start had lasted, and it had; there was still no sign of Pansy. Relief quickened her steps as she passed the statue of Boris the Bewildered. She never saw the dark figure that had emerged from the depth of the hallway until she collided with something solid.

Hermione let out a startled yelp, and two large hands grasped her shoulders, preventing her from tumbling backwards. Confused, she glanced up and found the unreadable face of Severus Snape scowling down at her.

"I – I'm so–sorry, sir," she stammered, her heart leaping in her throat. "I didn't mean..."

"Silence," he hissed, touching one of the stony hands of Boris the Bewildered next to them with his wand. Immediately, the statue swung aside and revealed a small, pitch-black passage, and before Hermione truly realised it, Snape tightened his grasp on her upper arm and guided her, gently but insistently, inside the passage with him.

The darkness in the passage swallowed them, and a claustrophobic feeling constricted her chest as the massive statue behind them swung back in place.

Where are you taking me? She turned her head into Snape's direction, still blinded by darkness as she felt him withdraw his hand from her arm.

"Close your eyes, Miss Ganger, it will be less painful if your sight adjusts slowly to the Lumos Maxima I need to cast." The harsh sound of his voice, so far closer to her ear as she had expected, made her wince. However, she followed his request, and a moment later, even through closed eyelids, the brightness of his spell surrounded her.

She blinked. Once. Twice, until the hallway in front of her took shape. It was long and narrow and even fully lit there appeared to be no end in sight, and Hermione realised that she had no idea where the eventual end could possibly be.

"Miss Granger," Snape began, turning to face her, cold black eyes meeting hers, "am I correct in assuming you are running from the Inquisitorial Squad?"

A demanding eyebrow rose, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. Of all the things running through her mind in these last moments, she hadn't braced herself for this question, for the fact that he knew.

"I–I, well, yes, sir."

His face darkened at her answer, but she couldn't tell if it was from disappointment or anger, and he granted her no opportunity to find out as he remained silent and turned to stride ahead, robes billowing behind him.

Hermione, however, remained rooted to the spot, her legs heavy and unable to move as if she had been Stupefied. It took a moment until Snape recognised she wasn't walking behind him and turned around, inclining his head and giving her an expectant look.

"Miss Granger, you would do well to follow me. Unless you don't want to get back to your Common Room tonight."

She blinked, waiting for his words to truly take form in her mind. Had he truly offered to take her to the Gryffindor Common Room, unseen by Umbridge and her myrmidons? He had.

"Oh – certainly, sir," she exclaimed, hastening toward him, only to add a quiet, "Thank you," as she reached him.

"Don't thank me for keeping your reckless Gryffindor neck out of trouble, Miss Granger," he snarled, his voice filled with stinging indifference, "I am simply trying to spare the headmaster more hassle than Potter's capture will doubtlessly already cause him."

"She – she caught Harry?" Hermione paled, clenching her hands into fists at her side, trying to repress the fear that began to claw at her heart.

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving her a cold, pointed look.

"So it appears, Miss Granger. I had the misfortune to encounter Professor Umbridge and Potter on their way to the headmaster's office."

Oh, Harry.

For a moment, she closed her eyes. "Were there other students, Professor?" The question was nothing but a strangled, helpless whisper.

"Other students, Miss Granger?" Snape mocked, but Hermione could have hardly cared less right now. "You mean the other delinquents beside yourself and Potter who so deliberately violated school rules tonight? It will please you to hear that, at least to my knowledge, Potter was the only capture of the Inquisitorial Squad so far, and those others you are referring to are back in their Common Rooms."

Cold black eyes still lingered on her face, chiding her silently, but Hermione couldn't hold back the sigh of relief. Ginny, Neville, Luna... Ron. They were safe, and it was so very obvious that, despite his unforgiving demeanour, Snape had somehow been involved in their escape... and if only 'to spare the headmaster more hassle' as he had so detachedly put it before. She would question the others later on that.

However, her momentary respite from anxiety ceased like a flame in the icy wind as Snape spoke again.

"Surely I don't have to point out how undeservingly fortunate you and those others have been this evening, Miss Granger," he spat, his voice a blade of silken fury. "But it is your foolishness in particular that truly amazes me, Miss Granger. I had the impression that you, of all students, understood to what ends Dolores Umbridge will go to gain control over this school, and even more, how important it is for Potter to remain within the protection of these walls. However, obviously, I was mistaken, and although I don't know what will be the outcome of this evening for Potter, I can assure you that I will advise the headmaster that this little endeavour has consequences for you and your friends. Have I made myself clear, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir." She swallowed, the full weight of his disappointment suddenly heavy on her heart, and her gaze dropped, unable to endure the coldness in his eyes, knowing he was right, so very right, as her thoughts drifted to Harry – Harry who was right now in the headmaster's office with Umbridge. If they all had been caught tonight – if Harry were expelled...

She swallowed again, but the red-hot lump spreading in her throat wouldn't go away. It's my entire fault. I asked him to teach us. I asked him to break the school rules.

"Miss Granger?" She heard Snape say her name, even noted that somehow, every hint of fury was gone from his voice, but she couldn't answer, she couldn't speak, an invisible force tying her tongue like sweet molasses in her mouth.

She couldn't even tell if it was an eternity or two later that she felt a pair of large, warm hands on her upper arms and heard the ever-so-soft demand, "Miss Granger, look at me."

And she did, feeling very young and foolish as her eyes brimmed with tears, but the strangely concerned expression in those dark orbs facing her let her find her voice again.

"If they expel Harry... It was my idea, Professor, mine alone. I need to go and take the responsibility..."

"You will do no such thing, Miss Granger. The headmaster will find a way to save Potter from expulsion," Snape declared, before rolling his eyes and adding with an afflicted growl, "Trust me, he always does."

For a heartbeat, Hermione was nothing but stunned, until the mental image of all the times the headmaster had worked his way around Professor Snape where Harry had been concerned curved her mouth into a wobbly smile; a smile that Snape graced merely with a half-hearted glare as he let his hands sink again, confirming for Hermione that this had been just the reaction he had wanted to achieve.

Brushing the tears from her cheeks, the irony of his earlier demand hit her, and before she had a chance to truly think them through, words were already tumbling from her lips. "I already do that, Professor. Trust you, I mean."

A quiet, firm declaration, and as she searched his eyes, a little tentative and fearful, she found nothing but warmth, an all-consuming warmth that made her stomach tingle oddly until his gaze broke away.

"It's time to go, Miss Granger."

It truly was, and a moment later she walked beside him through the tunnel, regarding their surroundings curiously. Nothing but heavy cobwebs graced the dark stone walls...no torches, no suits of armour, not even portraits...and Hermione got the impression that nobody but ghosts had walked these halls for centuries.

"What kind of passage is this?"

"Miss Granger, according to Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, I am only allowed to provide you with potion-related information, as you should know by now." Snape smirked.

"And according to recent experience, I am quite good at keeping secrets, Professor, as you should know by now." She smiled.

"Indeed, that you are, Miss Granger, that you are," Snape murmured, more to himself than to her, Hermione thought, casting him a curious glance as he added with his usual sneer, "For the sake of stilling your insufferable curiosity, at least for tonight, Miss Granger, it's an emergency system, created by the founders themselves. It allows us to evacuate students from every place in the castle, should ever the need occur. Obviously, this hasn't been the case in recent centuries." He gestured toward a particular large cobweb in front of them that he needed to remove before they could pass. "There are hidden doorways on each floor, mostly next to the Common Rooms or classrooms, and they all lead to a main tunnel that ends outside on the grounds, close to the front gate."

A furrow grew between Hermione brows. "I have never heard of such a tunnel system before. Why is it not mentioned in Hogwarts: A History?"

"I would hope it is not mentioned in that particular book; only the heads of House and the headmaster are to know of its existence. Therefore, please, Miss Granger, refrain from mentioning it to the Weasley twins after tonight, or they will spend the next month trying to regain access to these halls." He gave her a feigned pained look that made her smile again.

"Not a single word will pass my lips, Professor," she reassured with a playful dramatic gesture, pressing a hand to her chest and was pleased to catch a glimpse of hardly concealed amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They walked the rest of the way in mutual silence, and after some time, Hermione found herself standing outside the Gryffindor Common Room.

She drew breath to give the Fat Lady the current password but turned back once more, and her eyes flew to the man still standing in the shadows of the secret doorway. Upon meeting her gaze, he gave her a last stiff nod and vanished into the darkness again. For long moments, Hermione's eyes lingered unseeingly on the spot he had occupied, rubbing one hand unconsciously against her chest, where a peculiar, painful knot had begun to form, before she finally stepped inside.

It was later that night, when she was sitting on the settee in the Common Room, listening to Ron as he told how Snape's sudden appearance had distracted Crabbe and Goyle enough to miss the broom closet where he, Neville and Ginny were hiding, that Harry caught her gaze, and Hermione realised that fear and adrenaline had pushed something far, far from her mind tonight.

Only hours before the DA had been discovered and this whole catastrophe had broken loose, she had completed the research for her "Lily Project", right before the Easter holidays, exactly as she expected. Everything was as expected, except for one thing: in the last fifty years, there had never been another Lily at Hogwarts beside Harry's mum, and the painful awareness that had clouded her vision as she had written down the last name on her list returned, now as she was confronted with a particular pair of green eyes. She barely heard Ron's concluding remark, "First good deed in his life and the git did it unconsciously," as she rubbed her hurting chest again.

For the first time, the possibility of Professor Snape's Lily being some unknown, foreign witch among the Death Eaters appeared disturbingly desirable to her heart.

"Oh, come on 'Mione. We are done with studying for today," Ron claimed with a yawn, leaning with one shoulder against the bookshelf. "And Harry will be back from Snape soon."

The two of them had spent the last few hours in the library, while Harry attended another of his Occlumency lessons. Most of the time, Hermione had stood on a ladder, browsing through rows of potions literature with Ron at her side.

"I haven't found the book yet, Ron. The one I need for our essay," she said, biting her bottom lip as she tried to concentrate on her friend's question while placing the book she held back into the shelf.

"But you are right. At least one of us should be back in the Common Room when Harry returns. Particularly as it's his first lesson with Professor Snape since Professor Dumbledore has been gone," she said, turning to Ron; and momentarily her heart plummeted, as she was suddenly all too aware of his broad smile and those bright blue eyes that followed her steps watchful as she descended the stairs.

"So, let's go," Ron announced happily as her feet touched the ground again.

"Oh, well, yes – no, damnit. Would you mind going ahead, Ron? I – No, we really need this book to prepare the potions essay over the holidays."

"Whatever you say, 'Mione. See you in the Common Room, then." Ron shrugged and turned around, approaching the table where Neville was sitting. A moment later, she watched them leave the library together and had to fight the well-known feeling of regret from knotting her stomach as she turned back to the bookshelf in front of her.

Eyes travelling over the wall of books, Hermione sighed. Today, Snape had assigned them a quite challenging essay on the different usages of Phoenix Tears in healing potions. However, the standard work on the subject, Merlin's Encyclopaedia of Most Potente Healing Potions, was nowhere to be found. Earlier, Madam Pince had presumed that maybe a student had misplaced the book, but the next regular listing would only take place after the Easter break. Thus Hermione had to go through the whole potions department of the library herself if she even wanted a chance to find it before the essay was due. Merlin alone knew how the other Gryffindors planned to write their essay without it.

Frowning, she regarded the shelf in front of her, trying to figure out where she had left off when Ron had demanded her attention. Her fingertips trailed lightly over the backs of different ancient tomes with the letter 'H' as a whole shelf filled with documentary volumes caught her eyes.

She knew she wouldn't have bothered to take a second look had the title 'Hogwarts Potions Projects' combined with a range of dates not drawn her attention. The books covered over four decades of Potions projects, beginning with the year 1941 and ending with the edition of 1980, a time when Professor Snape had been a student himself at Hogwarts – at least from 1971 to 1978, given the date on his NEWT registration form.

Curiously, Hermione withdrew a volume and thumbed through the pages, her brow furrowing in annoyance. She had never before heard of a Potions professor with the name Horace Slughorn, but obviously he was the one who had initiated this series that portrayed the students and their projects, which he had supervised. What a very self-aggrandising thing to do. Hermione couldn't even imagine Professor McGonagall organising something like that, only to trumpet her name on every page, and that Professor Snape had refused to indulge in this tradition as well was obvious as the series ended the year he had started teaching at Hogwarts.

Several minutes passed and year after year, student after student flew by. Hermione had already opened the edition of 1974 when a glimpse of one photo caught her attention. She turned back to the page and her breath hitched with surprise and shock, and she nearly dropped the book as her hands began to tremble frantically.

The beautiful girl in the moving photo alternated between smiling into camera and at the boy sitting next to her at a desk in the Potions classroom, while the boy scowled at Hermione in a very familiar way.

However, in the short moment when the girl turned to him, the scowl vanished and a painfully shy, small smile changed his features.

Unbelievingly, Hermione's eyes flew to the caption at the bottom of the page, only to find, imprinted in black and white, the confirmation of something she had tried to deny... to ignore... to declare impossible for weeks now:

'The Different Qualities of Mandrake Roots'

Project by Lily Evans and Severus Snape,

Hogwarts 1974.

She blinked, and it took a moment, but then, merciless and inexorable, the truth between those lines fell like a knife straight into her heart and all other possibilities fell apart.

Harry's mum.

Lily.

The answer to all those painful questions was right in front of her, smiling at her, beautiful with her long red hair and those bright green eyes, and the love Professor Snape had felt – and still felt – for her was evident, captured in this photo forever.

Numbly, Hermione staggered backwards against the wall, pressing the book tightly to her chest as if it could shield her against the icy claws of cognition that seized her. There was no other Lily, there had never been one, not at Hogwarts, not among the Death Eaters, or at any other place in the world.

Lily was gone. Forever. Regardless of how much he needed... loved her. As even in this all-magical world, the greatest amount of love couldn't bring back the dead. And he was still here, in this castle, surrounded by years of memories and forced to teach her only son.

James' son.

Another man's son.

Maybe the son he had always wanted... Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, stifling the desperate sob that rose in her throat as something, located deep beneath her heart, cracked irrecoverably.

Slowly, her knees giving way, she slid down the wall and sank to the floor.

Glass shattered.

Falling to the floor in thousand pieces, like the remains of his last solace, the certitude that Potter's spawn would never know.

But, oh, the boy knew now. Thanks to his own thoughtlessness, the boy had seen, had watched how he had been ridiculed by his father, how he had hurt her, lost her.

Lost Lily.

With an agonised groan, Snape hurled a row of empty test tubes from his worktable. He should never have left the boy with the Pensieve unsupervised. He should have known that the impertinent boy wouldn't be able to resist. And now, he was fortunate that he had returned and found Potter before the scene in the Pensieve had shifted to the other memories buried in the stone basin, providing the boy with even more information to humiliate him behind his back: his guilt, his weakness. Potter wouldn't have waited a single minute to gloat and tell Miss Granger that her promise was stored, with all her trust and kindness, in the Pensieve of her greasy Potions professor like a forbidden treasure...

Snape forced his eyes shut, anger and humiliation coursing through his veins as he grasped the rim of his worktable with violent strength. To hell with Granger and her foolish promise, that had begun – oh, ever so slowly – to creep beneath his skin; and to hell with Potter and those beautiful emerald eyes that only reminded him of what he was missing... Lily.

Her presence. Her smile. Her laughter. Lost forever. Forever.

He gasped for air as the ancient pain curled once more around his heart, crushing it until there seemed to be nothing left but a pounding, empty shell. With one movement, he overthrew the working table. All around him, more glass shattered, and his hands still shook as he leaned against the next potions shelf.

He had long ago accepted that he was alone – alone to face the things to come – alone in this damned dungeon, among people who despised him – alone between two masters. He would even be alone when the end came. It was his curse, his obligation and it was entirely his own damned fault.

My fault alone. And he could face this fate again tomorrow, but not tonight. Tonight it felt unbearable, now that Potter's insolent spawn had pried into the hole in his soul... But he wouldn't give the boy a second chance to repeat the deed. Not if he wanted to preserve what was left of his sanity.

Snape turned from the potions shelf, staggering towards his storeroom for a bottle of Calming Draught as his eyes fell on the Pensieve, still simmering on his desk like the Pandora's box of his past.

On Tuesday, Dumbledore had slipped through Fudge's fingers. He had been gone from the castle before Snape had been able to return the item to him, and in his last message, the headmaster had advised him explicitly to keep it safe and out of Umbridge's claws until his return. Oh, he would, even if he didn't need it anymore.

Or maybe... Snape drew a deep breath and approached his desk. Maybe there was another way beside potions to ease the pain, at least for tonight.

Carefully, he lifted the memories Potter had so merciless disturbed minutes ago from the Pensieve into a phial, placing them securely in his drawer; he wouldn't take them back – not tonight.

He pulled up his wooden desk chair, settling into it and summoned his wand, concentrating as he placed the tip against his temple. And then, slivery-blue, fell strand after strand into the Pensieve – until there were no good memories left. For a brief moment, his eyes drifted close again and a small smile touched his mouth as he lowered his face into the simmering liquid – and fell.

A heartbeat later, he stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, flurrying with departing and excited students, but he heard her voice nonetheless, heard her voice for the first time after what seemed to be aeons and spun around.

"Sev, we've got to hurry."

"Oh, come on, Sev."

Snape moved closer to his younger memory-self, his eyes devouring the sight of Lily – beautiful and wonderfully alive. He swallowed. It was the winter of their fourth year. An innocent time when their paths hadn't been decided...

"No, I am not going home this time. Every year it gets worse." The younger Snape looked at the floor, dark curtains of hair falling forward, concealing his face. "He gets worse, Lily."

Lily stepped up to his younger memory-self, taking his hand in hers, and Snape felt his own twitch from the sight alone.

"Sev, you can come over and stay with us when your dad is in one of his moods again, I promised, remember? And your mum will be devastated if you don't come home for Christmas."

Two pairs of coal-black eyes were fixed on their joined hands, and the younger Snape nodded, absently, following Lily's gentle pull.

"So, let's get your trunk." She smiled at him as they walked towards the dungeons. "I know you are no coward, Sev."

And the scene changed.

Outside the Pensieve, next to Snape's still form, Dobby shook his head sadly, collecting the broken glass from the floor.

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