Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.

While You Were Sleeping

“... had my doubts. I mean, I’m loath to say anything, even to you. Who am I kidding, I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, did I?”

The soft, feminine voice carried on in a conversational tone.

“Although who would blame me after he ran out on Harry and I? I thought I’d never forgive him for that. I didn't want to forgive him at first, truth be told. I wanted to stay mad at him, wanted to keep my distance. But he did come back, and then -- He’s had his moments since he returned. It was his idea to open the Chamber.”

On some distant level Severus registered the warm touch at his wrist, the hot sting and the burning agony that seemed to radiate from his hand to the rest of his body. Since he couldn’t physically flee the sensation, his mind sought to block it out. Even though the words made little sense to him, the voice became his focus as it had so many times before.

How many? More than I can remember.

"Brilliant, that was, mimicking Parseltongue to get past the door. We gathered up all those fangs, needed to make sure we had enough to --" Her voice trailed off and Severus wondered how long it would be before the pain dulled this time. Minutes. An eternity. Is there any way to tell the difference anymore?

Eventually, long after he had forgotten she was there, she spoke again. "They won't tell me what they saw when they ... And I can't bring myself to give voice to the lies uttered by that thing inside the cup. It would have said anything to keep me from destroying it, anything. It can't have known what will really happen, it just... It just looked inside me and played off my fears. My doubts."

The cool touch of a soft, damp flannel against his skin soothed him, chasing away the last of the heat. Severus felt his mind drift as she continued to talk until there was nothing but the familiar darkness.

-~-

Ice flowed through his veins, making his chest ache with each sluggish beat of his heart.

There was only the inky blackness, nothing to distract him from the cold or the knowledge that his body was failing.

Dying.

Severus suspected that the idea of death should concern him more than it did. He didn't want to die, but he had resigned himself to the possibility long ago, that much he still recalled from the mixed-up jumble that had become his thoughts and memories.

Things were missing. Things that he thought he might have done -- had to have experienced -- were just a black hole.

Some memories were intact and could be replayed in his mind's eye with crystal clarity, which only served to make the loss of the others that much more frustrating.

He knew his name -- Severus Snape -- and when he was born -- The ninth of January, 1960. Mother gave birth to me in the same bed she had been born in. Tobias sold it after she died, along with most of her things. Why can I remember that, but not the last time I saw her?

I know she had been sick, bedridden. Her letters said Tobias had moved her to my old room so that he could have his cheap whores in the house.

He remembered speaking with Dumbledore -- Albus. -- about taking a few days of personal time, remembered packing for the trip and the barely contained fury directed at the man who had contributed to his birth... Then nothing.

The numbing cold made concentrating impossible, yet Severus tried. He was so intent on searching for that specific piece of memory, one he was sure existed, allowing himself to draw deeper and deeper into the oppressive darkness, that Severus almost missed the startled exclamation.

"Harry?" His caretaker had returned, her voice full of concern as she questioned someone.

"How long have you been asleep? The hourglass is empty, the -- Oh God, Harry, he's ice cold! When did you give him his last injection?"

Her touch, normally soft and gentle, was hot and brisk as she grasped his hand. Something was wrapped around his arm, tightening in wheezing bursts before releasing with a serpentine hiss.

Nagini.

"Pulse is thready, BP is low. Too low. Move -- out of the way. Fetch the syringe. He's barely breathing. How long? How long has it been, Harry?"

How many times had he asked himself that very question, wanting to know how long he'd been in this purgatory?

The one she called Harry spoke and Severus felt a fleeting bolt of recognition. He knew a Harry somehow, this Harry, more than just recognizing the name from his caretaker's ramblings. One of his former students, perhaps? Or a fellow staff member? For all he knew, Harry could be both. Musn't forget how the female caretaker addresses me as Professor. It is obvious that she, at least, was once one of my students. Not a far jump to assume the other is as well.

Severus knew that if he could just concentrate the answers would be there. So many answers. So many questions.

"I gave him the ten thirty. He was fine then." Harry seemed to have picked up on the sense of urgency for Severus felt another set of hands touching him, holding his arm steady for the prick of a large bore needle in the back of his hand.

For once, the searing heat of whatever they'd injected into his blood stream was welcome; it chased away the paralyzing cold.

"You slept through the eleven thirty alarm. He could have died."

Someone pried open one of his eyelids, and Severus was momentarily blinded. He thought he saw a brief glimpse of a face surrounded by a massive halo of dark hair and warm, soft light before he was released.

"I just hope we caught it in time." She sighed as someone tucked his arm under the warmth of the blankets. "Go on, it's time for me to take over anyway. You have to be more careful in the future. He has to get the antivenin once an hour or he deteriorates, you remember what the Healers told us."

"Yes, Hermione, I remember what the Healers said. And if I didn't remember, I have all the notes you wrote up and gave to Ron and I. Plus the copy sitting there by the bed. Not to mention how you remind us. Every. Single. Day."

Hermione. Severus mentally sounded out the word, caressing each syllable. It was at once familiar and foreign to his ears, but he was nevertheless pleased to have discovered the name of his caretaker.

Caretakers. Three of them, at least, and not Healers.

Hermione's voice softened, placating. "I guess it was overkill, wasn't it? Old habits and all that." He felt her fingers dig into the bedclothes over his arm, as if she were twisting the material.

"Ron's in the kitchen. If you hurry, you may be able to catch him before he finishes off the last of Molly’s banoffee pie. Which -- I wasn't supposed to remind you about."

There was a pause, then the barely audible sound of a door opening. "Thanks, Hermione."

And just like that, all is forgiven.

Or is it?

Harry had left, but the bedding continued to be tortured as she grumbled under her breath. "Overkill or not, it wasn't enough to make you stay awake for your shift, was it?

"Eight bloody hours. Couldn't have stuck his head out the door and told us he was getting drowsy, oh no, not when it was so much easier just to nod off and put someone's life at risk."

He felt a huff of warm air, lightly scented of toffee and bananas, across his face.

"Not that I'm going to say anything more about it to him. Harry's in a snit enough lately as it is. I can understand why, don't get me wrong," Hermione continued to speak as if she was certain Severus was listening to every word. Which he was. "The man who defeated You-Know-Who -- technically for the second time, I suppose -- stuck in a cottage, caring for an invalid while the rest of the Order and the Ministry continue to track down the remaining Death Eaters and their supporters. Not that they've had much luck finding the lot of them, but that's where you come in, isn't it?"

She always waited just a moment when she asked a question, as if hoping Severus might voice an answer. If she was disappointed when he did not, Hermione's tone didn't show it.

She smoothed the rumpled bedding over his frame, leaning across his chest to straighten the far side. The slight weight and soft form momentarily pressed against him sparked a wave of longing and a fragmented memory of smiling green eyes and auburn curls.

Hermione? No. Someone else. Someone close to me.

"They think you're dead. Well, we all did at first. I saw you die in the Shrieking Shack myself, all that silver fluid leaking out of -- I hadn't known it was even possible to share memories like that."

He heard the scrape of something being dragged across a hard wood floor before she spoke again, and he was pleased to note that it sounded as if she'd moved a chair closer to the bed.

"Of course, we have no way of knowing how much damage it left behind. My research -- what little of it I've been able to do from here -- has been unable to find a single documented case of anyone surviving unscathed from a memory purge of that magnitude. The few case studies I found, the ones who didn't immediately die from whatever injuries sparked the purge, ended with the subject wasting away, a ward of the Ministry. Mentally unbalanced, unable to care for themselves in more than the most basic ways.

"If ... When you wake up..."

She cleared her throat and Severus could hear her fussing about with the items on the bedside table.

"That's not going to happen to you. You are our secret weapon, Professor, and I am going to make sure that when this is over, you'll be back to your old caustic self. Somehow."

A bit more fussing, as if she needed something to busy her hands with.

"As I said, almost everyone believes that you're dead and buried. A hero's funeral for one of Dumbledore's faithful.

"I wasn't allowed to attend, but Molly brought us a copy of the Prophet and relayed every detail she could remember.

"I suspect you would have been surprised at the turn out. Then again, I'm sure a good number of them just wanted to see for themselves that the great, horrid bat of their school years truly was gone, even if he was officially pardoned -- posthumously, of course -- by the Ministry."

He thought he detected a smile in her voice.

She's probably correct about the funeral attendees. I doubt there are more than a handful who have actually mourned my passing.

"No one saw Ron and I bring you back to Hogwarts after Harry disappeared. He had gone out to face You-Know-Who alone, but Ron and I hadn't known that. Probably a good thing, we would have tried to stop him, or worse, gone after him and most likely ended up dead ourselves, ruining Harry's only chance to put an end to it all.

"When we realized he'd left the castle our first thought was that he'd gone back to the Shack, perhaps to find something You-Know-Who had left behind. Obviously, he wasn't there, but you were. Not where we'd left you, though. Somehow you'd managed to drag yourself halfway across the room -- toward the door -- before collapsing for the final time. I found the broken bottle of antivenin clutched in your hand, most of the contents soaked into the rotting floorboards. That's when I realized you must have prepared yourself for the possibility that He would turn on you. The blood flow had slowed to a trickle ... I'll never get it out of my mind, the drying crimson mixing with the still oozing silver rivers of memories, tainting them sickly pink ... Lost forever."

Silence stretched between them, but Severus refused to allow himself to give in to the seductive exhaustion threatening to pull him under once more. Hermione was finally handing him some of the answers that he'd been searching for since he first became aware of his surroundings in this place.

"Kingsley thought it would be best if as few people as possible found out about you. Even the Healers that stabilized you were sworn to secrecy. Only a handful of Order members know that Ron, Harry and I are out here, even less know that we aren't alone. Everyone else believes we're off hunting down Death Eaters, which I'm sure Harry would prefer to be doing. I still don't know how Kingsley and the others managed to convince him to come out here in the first place. It was probably that last assassination attempt; Ginny ended up being hospitalized." She shifted again, leaning forward to press the back of her hand to his forehead.

But why? Why are you keeping me alive? What possible use can I be, now?

"Much better. I'll need to adjust the timing of the next dose to get us back on schedule, but I think we'll be all right, Professor. I just wish we knew why the antivenin isn't working the way it should.

“You know, don't you? I bet you know what we're doing wrong, what we're not getting. If only you could tell me."

-~-

"This is stupid. We've been cooped up here for weeks, we should be out there! Doing something important!" Harry complained. Severus easily recognized the whinging tone that was often present in Harry's voice of late.

Weeks. He said weeks. It seems like it should have been so much longer.

A cold feeling of dread came out of the darkness.

The glint of wandlight on moving scales, a flash of fangs and searing pain at his throat.

Sweat broke out on his skin.

"We are doing something important, Harry. We're keeping Snape alive."

"And a great bloody lot of good that's done so far. One! All these weeks and we've only discovered the identity of one of the secretive bastards, and Kingsley told me Thompkins was one of the ones they'd suspected from the start, anyway. Utterly useless!"

"Lower your voice. He'll hear you."

Harry's reply was low and full of hissing sibilants.

Severus felt his blood turn to ice.

The snake. Nagini attacked. Dying. Can't breathe. I've failed them. Albus. Lily. Sweet Lily.

Phantom green eyes peering down at him, their vibrant color diluted by the lenses of the boy's spectacles.

Not Lily. Her son. Lily is gone. My fault

"Oy, you know it gives me the willies when you do that." The third caretaker, Ron, reproached. "None of us want to be here, mate. No need to take it out on 'Mione."

Harry’s brief apology was grudgingly given at best. "Sorry. But Snape can't hear us, I could yell into his ear and there wouldn't be a twitch of recognition. Don't you see, he's a husk, there's nothing left of the man but stolen memories stored in bottles. He spent most of his life being used by someone or another, and now that he should finally be at peace we're keeping him alive just to use him some more. I sure as hell wouldn't want to end up that way."

She's gone, and no matter what Albus wanted me to believe, there has never been anything I could do to bring her back. To make it right.

Gone. They're all gone. Lily ... Albus ... Mother ...

The heavy feeling of despair threatened to smother him, and Severus found himself praying to whatever deity would deign to listen -- the God that Tobias favored, one of the old gods that Mother used to speak of, any at all -- for death. Don't leave me here all alone, I'd rather die. Why won't you end it? Please.

"Don't talk about him like that." Even through his misery, Severus heard the quiet strength in Hermione's voice.

"Why not? I told you, he can't hear us."

"You don't know that." She brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from Severus' forehead.

"I have to side with 'Mione on this one. It just feels -- off, talking about him like that, when he's right there." Ron quickly rushed on in an attempt to placate his friend. "Even if Snape isn't really Snape any more."

She gasped. Severus thought it was a reaction to the other man agreeing with her, but then he felt a feather-light touch against his cheek, sweeping through the trail of a dampness on his skin.

"I think -- I think he's crying."

"Don't be absurd. It's just perspiration, we've seen it before." Even though he tried to sound sure of his answer, Harry's voice wavered slightly.

"Oh! Ron, quick! A bottle! It’s happening again."

The glass lip of a vial was cold against his chin as someone uttered a soft incantation to gather the silvery fluid that trickled from between his lips.

"There we go. Harry? Don't you want to see what it is?" Hermione seemed confused.

"No. You do it. I'm tired of watching him moon over my mother."

"Harry?!"

The sharp slam of a door was the only reply.

-~-

Severus had no idea how long she'd been there. He'd heard the door open and the silent changing of the guard to watch over him long ago, but time held little meaning for him now. An hour could seem like minutes, minutes like days.

Only her scent -- clean and fresh, like linens that had spent the day drying on a line -- told him it was Hermione and not one of the men sitting near the bed.

He realized that he'd grown used to hearing her voice; this silence from her -- unlike when Harry or Ron watched over him -- made him uneasy.

Her sigh, quiet as it was, seemed to echo through the room. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I hope you can. Harry says I'm being foolish, but I'd rather believe you're in there, somewhere. Especially now."

The silence returned for several moments as she organized her thoughts.

"I feel like I owe you an apology, sir. I've seen ... some things that were never meant to be witnessed, at least not by me. Harry told us about your -- your feelings for Lily Potter. Evans. Potter. One and the same, really, aren't they?

"He'd told us what he'd seen in the memories you'd given him the night you died, although he'd left out the details and simply summed it up by explaining you'd had feelings for her and that you had been working for Dumbledore all along. Even knowing that, I hadn't expected to see..."

He felt her hand touching one of his where it rested against the blanket, fingers wrapping around to cradle against his palm. "Harry never let either of us look into the Pensieve before, not that we ever asked. He had always been careful to protect your privacy, I want you to know that. I think it just became too hard for him, seeing the way you felt for her, knowing that she was meant to end up with James." Her hand squeezed his, and Severus expected to feel repulsed by the display of pity. Instead, he almost wished he could return the gesture, feeling there was something behind her words that made them endurable.

"I just want you to know that I won't tell anyone what I've seen, other than any information about the missing Death Eaters. Not even Ron."

Another sigh, and he thought he heard a strange hitch in her breath. "Last night, I saw you die again. I'd managed to forget so much in everything that had happened that night, pushed a lot of it to the back of my mind on purpose. I didn't want to become obsessed with all those deaths.

"I could see it on your face, the moment when you knew it was coming, the betrayal. The emotion in your eyes when you looked up at Harry one final time."

There was no memory of the events she was describing. He heard that gasping hitch again and realized she was crying.

-~-

"I thought I recognized someone. You were in a circle, surrounding You-Know-Who as he ranted about Harry. Everyone was wearing those horrid masks. I was walking amongst all the robed figures, trying to peek into the shadows under the hoods for any clue, and there he was. On your left, two men over, I'm almost positive I've seen those eyes before. I just can't remember where."

Hermione heaved a frustrated sigh. Severus wished he could have helped, but it had become apparent to him that once a memory had been purged from his body, it was gone. He briefly wondered how much of his mind was bottled up somewhere, collecting dust.

"Harry's been replaying the scene over and over since I told him what I'd found. He's determined to find some mannerism or twitch that will identify the man. I think it's giving him something to focus on other than losing at Wizard's Chess and watching you sleep, which is a godsend. Of course, it also means that I have to wait until he's asleep, or in here, to access the Pensieve myself. Ron has offered to help, but I think it would be best if he didn't. At least for now."

-~-

She was pacing; he could hear the faint creak of the floor boards as she moved. Severus longed to reach out a hand to still her.

"I should have figured it out sooner. More than a month. Every additional dose putting your life at risk and all along it was right there, under my nose."

Her words were low and angry, and for once she was making no effort to pretend that she was addressing him.

"I should have thought to ask Harry sooner..."

Her movements stopped. He felt her brush hair from his forehead.

"I wish they would let me go to Hogwarts. I know Professor Slughorn is more than capable of following the instructions I sent, but I would feel better if I could watch his progress myself. Oh, who am I kidding? Arsenius Jigger could be working on the antidote and I'd still be anxious."

The mattress dipped, and Severus felt a warm weight settle against his hip.

She's sitting on the bed.

The room seemed to grow marginally warmer.

"Told you that you had the answer all along, didn't I?" Her chuckle was soft and half-hearted as she adjusted the bedding around him. "Harry said he'd witnessed the memory the day after he slept through one of your treatments, he just didn't realize what it was. You know Harry. If he'd witnessed you on the Quidditch Pitch he would have been able to identify the exact move and probably even tell me who created it.

"Unfortunately, you were making a potion, not flying on a broom, and he was more concerned with trying to find information on the remaining fugitives."

The warm air of a sigh blew across his face.

"Thank goodness I recognized most of the ingredients laid out on your work table. The base of the infusion was similar to one you taught us during my fifth year -- although I believe at that point we were simply learning the principles behind counteracting poisons and toxins.

"I don't think I ever really had the chance to watch you work before. I mean, I've seen your demonstrations in class over the years, and I knew that you probably had a hand in keeping the infirmary stocked and things, but I'd never actually seen you -- work..." She trailed off for a moment, as if unable to come up with a better word.

"It was fascinating -- even before I realized that it was the antivenin you were creating. Your movements were so precise. Practiced. Confident."

Her fingers grazed the back of one of his hands, lingering for a brief moment, before she tucked his arm underneath the coverlet.

-~-

Something was different. It took some time for Severus to pinpoint what it was that drew him out of the comforting embrace of deep sleep and thrust him into awareness.

His normally heavy and unresponsive limbs were tingling. The unpleasant sensation reminded him of the numerous times he had spent far too long hunched over his desk marking essays, only to discover that his legs had fallen asleep when he tried to stand. One hand twitched, fingers flexing in an attempt to improve the circulation.

His fingers flexed.

Severus felt his breath catch at the realization, his heart began pumping faster as adrenalin surged through his system. Slowly, deliberately, he closed his hand into a fist. He felt the slight bite of fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm.

Toes wiggled under the bedding, calves and biceps flexed and finally -- finally -- Severus risked opening his eyes.

"'Bout bloody time. We were starting to think it wasn't going to work."

"Don't let 'Mione hear you say that, she spent days slaving over the formula for the antidote." Severus looked from the grinning dark-haired young man whose voice he recognized as Harry's to the one who had spoken first, a tall, gangly man with a mop of tousled red hair. Both men looked familiar; Severus could easily picture them in Hogwarts uniforms, sitting in front of bubbling cauldrons. His earlier rumination about whether or not Harry might have been one of his students seemed to be correct. Judging from the apparent age of both men, they couldn't have completed their studies long ago, a year or two at the most.

"Welcome back, Snape. As Ron tried to say in his own special way, we're glad to see that you're awake." Harry moved closer to the bed as he spoke, almost reaching out as if to offer his hand before drawing it back at the last moment.

"I know you." Severus' voice was hoarse and scratchy from lack of use. He tried to sit up, pressing both palms against the mattress for leverage, but the maneuver required more effort than he could manage and he fell back against the bed. Harry shuffled forward and awkwardly assisted his former instructor.

Ron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. "Of course you do." He replied as if it should have been common knowledge.

"You -- saved me?"

The two young men exchanged looks. "Yeah," Ron drew the word out slowly. "Sort of. 'Mione says we mostly just kept you alive until you were able to give us the answer yourself, but --" He shrugged.

"Why?" This time Severus' voice was stronger. Angrier.

"Er -- Because?"

Harry must have seen the narrowing of Severus' eyes; he quickly moved toward Ron and gently shoved the taller man toward a chair part way across the room. "The others are going to want to know that it worked, and that you're awake. I should send word to Kingsley and Arthur. I know they'll want to see you for themselves."

Am I to be a sideshow freak, on display for the amusement of others? Is that it? He could feel the slow boil of anger beginning to warm him from the inside.

"I should probably wake up Hermione, too. She'd kill me if I let her sleep through this, even if she had been up for the last twenty-four hours straight, waiting to see if the antidote would work."

Severus didn't even register that Harry had left the room. He had stilled when the other man mentioned her name, a mixture of anticipation and dread overtaking him and muting the anger. Soon he would meet his caretaker, the woman who just might have kept him sane over the last several weeks, the woman he most definitely longed to -- touch -- meet.

He tried to tell himself that she could be an ogress or a hag, tried to prepare himself for the disappointment that was sure to come.

As if I have any room to be judgmental about another's appearance. Hermione is owed my gratitude, nothing else matters.

The door opened and disheveled female hurried through, both hands busy tugging unruly brown hair into a makeshift bun. Several stubborn tendrils refused to be contained.

"Harry said I should come in and -- Oh, my. Professor?" She had come to a sudden stop half way across the room. Severus thought she looked at once hopeful and nervous.

He nodded slowly, keeping his gaze fixed upon her the entire time. Her voice, and the familiar scent of clean linens that teased at his senses, confirmed that this woman -- younger than he had imagined, it was true -- was his caretaker.

"Hermione."

She started, then her lips broke into a smile. Over her shoulder, Severus could see that Ron was scowling. The young man moved closer to her and put a possessive hand on her waist. Is he glaring at me? Trying to claim his territory, I should imagine. We shall see.

"It worked. The antidote worked!" Hermione turned and threw her arms around Ron. Severus didn't care to see the triumphant gleam in the other man's eyes, choosing to take the opportunity to look around the room.

"Where am I?" The words were harsher than he'd intended, but they did serve to break up the little tete-a-tete, which pleased him.

Hermione's expression grew serious as she crossed the room to his bedside. She reached for his wrist as Severus was certain she had done many times in the past; however, now that he was conscious, he wasn't prepared to allow himself to be manhandled without a word. He smoothly shifted his arm to the side several inches and tilted his head, one brow arched in silent query.

Her cheeks burned bright and pink, and Severus found himself fascinated by the sight. "May I?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"You may." Several moments passed in silence while she checked his pulse and examined him to her satisfaction. Once Severus was certain she was done, he spoke again. "Where. Am. I?"

She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, glancing over her shoulder at Ron for a moment before turning back to Severus. "You're at Meadow Wood Cottage."

His confusion must have been apparent. Clearly she expected the name of the building to have some meaning for him, but it did not.

"Remus and Tonks lived here," Ron offered helpfully.

Unease gripped him. His feelings for the werewolf should have been well known, most of all by Lupin himself. He found it difficult to believe that Lupin would have willingly accepted him into his home, much less for the amount of time that Severus had been incapacitated.

"And where are they now?" He made sure to address his question to Hermione.

"They're dead, Professor. They died during the final battle. Little Teddy is living with Tonks' mum and far too young to need a place of his own so the Order was granted permission from Andromeda to use this place for awhile."

There was no memory of a "little Teddy" or of the final battle she spoke of. Whether the latter was due to the timing of his "death" or the loss of memories, he couldn't be sure.

So many questions that would require answers. What had happened to him, exactly how long had they been here and most importantly, what of the Dark Lord?

So many questions, but now Severus had a way to get his answers.

Something sticky and wet -- thicker than perspiration -- was running down the side of his neck. He brought a hand up to swipe at the substance, wishing to remove it. His fingers came away coated in a silverish liquid.

"I was hoping that once you woke up that would stop." Severus looked up to find Hermione offering an empty glass vessel to him. "I don't know what else to do. If I may?" She gestured with her wand, waiting for his nod of consent to spell the liquid into the vial.

He watched her bottle his memory, part of his mind, and yet again Severus wondered if he might have been better off if they'd left him to die all those weeks ago.

-~-

The soft click of the door closing was enough to rouse Severus from his light sleep. He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Harry stood to offer his seat to Hermione, whispering, "He's been out for the last hour."

She nodded, quietly taking the chair and setting a lumpy bag next to it. "It's ok, I brought the quilting Molly wanted me to work on so I'm sure that will keep me occupied until he wakes up," she whispered back.

Severus remained silent long after Harry had left, watching her struggle with the bulky fabric and thread from her bag.

"I'm no expert, but I suspect you're doing that incorrectly."

Hermione nearly dropped her needle, quickly shoving everything into one hand so that the other could press against her chest above her heart. "You startled me, sir. I thought you were asleep?"

He thought he detected a hint of reproach in her question. Severus felt the corner of his lips tilting upward in the hint of a smirk. "I was asleep. Until someone came tromping into the room like a small, drunken elephant."

Both of her eyes closed and he wasn't sure if she was wincing out of regret for waking him or in an effort to hold her tongue.

"I apologize, Professor."

For some reason, her apology disappointed him. He had been rather perversely hoping that Hermione would have taken him to task for his remark.

"Severus."

"P-pardon?" she stuttered.

"We're not at Hogwarts, and while I may not remember the past in exacting detail --" Or at all in some cases. "I am almost certain that I am no longer your instructor. I would prefer it if you called me Severus, Hermione."

She blinked at the sound of her own name coming from his lips, and he wondered, not for the first time, at her strange reaction. She never started or flinched when Ron or Harry called her by name, or even by that vile butchering 'Mione.

"I'm not sure I could --" Hermione trailed off as his lips set into a firm line of annoyance. "That is to say, it may take some getting used to on my part. There is a lot of history that you don't remember, but I do, and it's, well..."

A quick glance at his folded hands resting on the covers to contain his amusement, then a carefully schooled look of understanding was aimed at her. "Complicated? Awkward? Illicit?" With any luck she wouldn't recognize the hopeful accenting of that last one.

"Oh, no, not -- No." Hermione was laughing, although Severus suspected part of her reaction might have been nerves rather than pure amusement. "I just mean that you were the Head of Slytherin the entire time I was a Gryffindor, and we never had an occasion to be on familiar terms."

Severus sat up, rearranging his pillows for support and comfort, then gave her a measuring look. "Pity."

She continued to stare at him, lips parted slightly as if she wasn't even aware that her mouth was open. Begging to be kissed.

"What is it you're attempting to make?"

Another slow blink from her, then Hermione shook her head and looked down at the pile of tangled thread in her lap. "It's supposed to be a quilt. Molly thought it might help pass the time. I didn't have the heart to tell her that where I come from we have machines to do the sewing for us and I can buy a perfectly serviceable quilt in a shop fairly cheaply."

"And Molly is?"

Once again she abandoned her work. "Molly Weasley. She's Ron's mother. Married to Arthur Weasley. Both are in the Order. Am I forgetting anything?"

Weasley. That name meant something. Visions of a multitude of faces, all with red hair, assaulted him. Severus swallowed hard, chasing after the fleeting glimpses that were trying to elude him.

"There are a lot of them, aren't there? Weasleys."

"Oh yes. Ron has five brothers and a sister. Had, I mean. Fred died during the final battle."

Yet another death to add to the growing list. It shouldn't have bothered him, none of them should have, but it did. He suspected that once his memories were returned the dull sense of loss would be a thousand times worse.

"My mother was a quilter. She was very skilled. I would spend hours at her knee when I was young, carefully handing her the next piece of fabric or offering to thread the needle for her. She created pieces of art, thick enough to keep you warm in the heart of winter and beautiful enough to hang on the wall the remaining months of the year. I still have the one she sent to me during my first year at Hogwarts."

She looked stunned. He doubted it was the news that his mother was a quilt maker; perhaps it was the news that he had a mother at all and hadn't been birthed from a bottomless pit of sulfur and brimstone. Then again, it could simply be that he was sharing details of his personal life at all.

"My grandmother made a quilt for me, when I was a baby. I remember it at the foot of my bed for years, until it nearly fell apart. I think my mother packed it away long ago." Hermione finished speaking and looked down at her work. Severus was certain she was biting at her lower lip.

"As I said, I'm no expert, but if you would like some assistance I may be of some use. If nothing else, you could use the end of the bed to block out your pattern."

She remained silent for a moment, and Severus was about to offer some excuse about needing to rest anyway when she stood. Hermione dragged her chair to the bedside, and with a quick look toward him to confirm that he had been serious, she began to carefully empty the contents of her bag atop the bedding.

-~-

"You really don't know who I am?" Harry seemed amused.

"You are Harry, one of the poor unfortunates who have been sentenced to remain here as my caretaker. I believe you were also a student of mine, not too long ago, judging by your age and the glimpses I do remember. From what Hermione tells me, you and I were working toward the same goal regarding the Dar -- Him. Is there something else I should know that I don't?" While the younger man seemed to find his line of questioning fascinating, Severus did not. Something about him seemed to wear at Severus in the wrong way. He reminded Severus of someone from long ago, someone that he did not like.

Then again, there was the resemblance to another, someone that Severus had liked all too well.

"There is more to it than that, isn't there?"

Harry grinned. "There is, but to be honest, I think I'm beginning to prefer that you don't remember. You haven't tried to give me detention or take points all week."

"Easily remedied. Ten points from Gryffindor." His irritation wasn't as intense as it could have been, although Severus chose to blame that on the exquisite meal he'd just finished rather than any smidgen of tolerance for the grinning fool before him.

He wasn't, however, comfortable continuing down his earlier train of thought, and made a point not to look into the young man's familiar green eyes. "Are they having any progress finding the other Death Eaters?"

That seemed to be a neutral topic that Harry was almost always willing to discuss.

"Kingsley says that they were able to apprehend four of the five men you told us about. No one has seen Weatherby in months, long before the final attack on the castle. We can't even be sure if he was there that night. It would be a lot easier if you could just --"

Yet another reminder of his condition, however involuntary. Harry looked contrite; it was obvious that everyone in the cottage knew how frustrated Severus was at his inability to even access the memories that were still trickling out of his body. Granted, the rate of loss had slowed considerably according to Hermione, but there was a loss still the same. Try as he might, the Pensieve would not work for him. Hermione seemed to feel that when -- if -- he managed to reverse whatever it was that had begun the memory purge in the first place, only then would he be able to reclaim all that had been lost. All he had to do, she insisted, was figure out the trigger and fix it.

Unless, of course, he turned into a mindless vegetable first.

"There are still three more robed figures in some of your -- that no one has been able to identify. The numbers are finally starting to turn in our favor. With any luck, we'll be out of this place in another month or two."

-~-

"Poetry." He wasn't sure he appreciated the hint of astonishment in Hermione's tone and he took umbrage at the look of disbelief on her face. Her quilting bits were scattered along the bedding and she was perched on the edge of the mattress, more interested in the conversation than her project. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, Ron would never spend an afternoon composing couplets about me, even if he ended up incinerating them as you did. It was just a bit -- unexpected to see you sitting there writing someone poetry. Sweet, romantic ... really, really atrocious couplets."

Severus knew he didn't appreciate the soft giggle.

"As a poet, you are a fantastic Potions master."

She was teasing him.

Minx.

"I was young and in the harsh grasp of puberty, if you would recall. I can assure you that there have been no more attempts to rhyme since."

She was trying hard not to laugh outright at his affronted look, he could tell by the way she had her lips clamped tightly together and the way her nose twitched. He wanted to touch those lips with his own, gently part them with his tongue, taste the secrets hidden behind them. In his mind's eye he could almost picture the kiss, leaning forward slowly to brush his mouth against hers, teasing a response from her, silently asking for access...

Her lips parted with an indrawn breath and a tantalizing flick of her tongue to dampen the pink flesh.

Dark, hungry eyes lifted to meet her gaze.

"Oh."

Even though her soft exclamation was barely audible, it was enough to break the spell that they were under. Hermione looked away, pausing to glance at his mouth for the briefest moment before concentrating on the scraps of fabric littering the bed.

"Try not to lose one of your needles again. The next time one of them ends up embedded in my arse, I won't be nearly as forgiving."

His annoyed tone and change of topic earned him a grateful smile from Hermione.

"As if you'd notice another stick up your arse. Oops." Both hands clamped over her mouth -- most likely to keep back a flood of giggles -- and Hermione quickly scooted farther out of reach.

"Give me my wand and say that again, I dare you." His growl lacked the menace it should have had.

"I don't think so, I don't have a death wish."

-~-

"You're being very quiet today." Severus finished tying off the stitches on fabric square he had been adding to his side of the quilt before turning his attention to Hermione. She quickly looked away, and Severus realized she'd been watching him for awhile. He liked the delicate flush that spread down from her cheeks, it gave her an air of innocence and warmth.

"Kneazle got your tongue?" As if on cue, Crookshanks jumped unto the bed, landing in the middle of a pile of fabric scraps that had been left out for just that reason. Severus had been introduced to the ugly animal days ago when it insisted on making its displeasure at being separated from its mistress known to the entire cottage. Hermione had asked if he would mind if the cat-thing were allowed into his room during her visitations and Severus had felt there really had been no choice but to acquiesce in the face of the ear-splitting caterwauling and her hopeful expression.

Thankfully, Crookshanks was content to playfully destroy his own pile of scraps rather than making an effort to shred the slowly forming quilt itself.

Hermione reached out to pet the matted furball, narrowly avoiding a half-hearted swipe of unsheathed claws. "Bad kitty, Crooks. Play nice."

Severus continued to work in silence, glancing up from time to time to catch Hermione watching him once more.

"Am I to be treated to this silent treatment for the remainder of my stay, or will you tell me what is bothering you?"

He heard her clear her throat, saw her hand still on the belly of the cat beast in his peripheral vision, and waited.

"I didn't realize you knew Andromeda Tonks."

"Did I?" His stitches were small and precise. His mother would have been proud.

"Quiet well, apparently."

Surely that wasn't a hint of jealousy in her voice? "I fail to see how that would be any of your concern." The newest stitch wasn't as straight as he would have liked, Severus frowned down at it.

"I just thought -- how could you be with someone else when you loved Lily?"

Now he looked up, shocked that she had dared to bring Lily into the conversation. He had heard her speak of the other woman before, but not since he'd awoken. It bothered him that she and Harry knew so much about his supposed feelings for Lily when he could barely remember what she looked like, or the way her smile used to make him warm and joyful.

"You thought? Was I supposed to remain a solitary, besotted, celibate fool my entire life simply because I'd made the mistake of falling in love with a woman who would never love me in return?

"Surely you know that love and lust, while often complementing each other, do not necessarily go hand in hand. It is possible for a person to feel an attraction toward another without pledging their undying love."

Hermione began to gather her things. Severus carefully tucked his needle away safely, and helped her fold the quilt for storage.

"It just surprised me, that's all. I didn't mean to pry." She sounded contrite and confused. He longed to reach out to grasp her hand, or to cup her cheek.

"I understand that every memory has to be reviewed by someone. Better you, who I trust, than one of the others, I suppose."

Those busy hands stilled once more at his admission. "Thank you."

She finished packing up and moved to leave. "Hermione? How much did you see?"

He thought she wasn't going to answer as she opened the door. Crookshanks slipped through before her, his bottle brush tail twitching erratically.

"Everything, Severus." Hermione spoke so lightly that she was gone before Severus could be certain of what he heard.

-~-

"I must insist." Severus' tone did not leave room for argument. He thrust the blankets away and shifted his legs to the side of the bed. "Either you help me or I will do it myself."

Harry hesitated until Severus attempted to stand and began to wobble. He rushed to the older man's side and allowed himself to be used as a crutch. "Hermione is going to kill me. So is Molly."

Severus hoped he never had cause to meet up with this Molly Weasley; her name tended to be whispered around the cottage with the same reverence as You-Know-Who.

"I haven't lost a memory in days, Harry. You said it yourself yesterday, I'm looking better. Stronger. Now is as good a time as any."

He could feel Harry straining to support his weight as they inched across the room. Briefly, he thought to suggest that Harry cast a Mobilicorpus to speed things along, but decided he'd rather get there on his own. Mostly.

"I said you were looking better, I didn't say you were completely healthy again. You can barely walk!"

It took a bit of maneuvering to get the door open. The rest of the cottage appeared to be as sparsely furnished as his room. There was an open doorway through which he could see the kitchen table and several cabinets, a mostly closed door with a partially visible porcelain sink and a set of lavender hand towels, and a third door that was closed. A pair of cots were set up near the fireplace. At least one dirty sock was draped across the closest chair and a pair of men's drawers was peeking out from under the dust ruffle of the settee.

"Love what you've done with the place, Harry."

His sarcastic drawl was loud enough to draw the other two inhabitants out of the kitchen. Hermione stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, and glared. "What is he doing out of bed?"

Harry muttered, "I told you she'd be annoyed."

"I'm reclaiming what is mine. Now, where are they?"

Ron wisely chose to stay quiet, although he did scoot across the room to pick up several stray items that had been left on the floor, clearing a path toward the closed door for Harry and Severus.

"Do you think this is wise? I could have brought the Pensieve to your room if you're that determined to --"

"Enough!" he interrupted with a roar that took more out of him than Severus wanted to admit. "I am fully capable of leaving the bed, woman, and I refuse to be treated like an invalid a moment longer."

If Harry noticed Severus sagging against him a bit more, he didn't mention it.

"Fine. I'll be in the kitchen if you manage to hurt yourself, I'm sure someone will find me if I'm needed."

No one spoke as she turned on her heel and disappeared into the other room. Ron waited until they were all safely hidden behind the closed door of the second bedroom -- where Hermione slept from the looks of it -- to shake his head at Severus.

"Now you've gone and ticked her off, and dragged the rest of us into it. I bet none of us get dessert tonight, thanks to you."

-~-

Contrary to her final words, she was waiting anxiously at the door when they finally came out, hours later. Her lower lip was swollen and raw, and Severus knew she'd been worrying it with her teeth the entire time.

"Well. Did it work?"

Both young men were doing their best to assist him to his room; his efforts with the Pensieve had drained him considerably. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it worked. Now, if you could step out of the way, or would you prefer that one of us collapses right here?"

As Ron suspected, when Severus woke sometime in the night to discover his cold tray of food there was no dessert to be found.

-~-

The quilt had come along way over the last few weeks, although Severus hadn't been asked to help work on it since he'd regained his memories. He could see Hermione struggling to pin the pieces that would make up the border and contemplated offering his assistance.

Normally Ron and Harry would join them in the living area, usually engrossed in a game of chess in the corner while Hermione sewed by the fire and Severus read one of the books from Lupin's meager library. Again.

Tonight, however, the two men were nowhere to be seen. Nor could he hear them banging around in the kitchen.

He set aside last year's almanac and moved to take the chair next to hers.

"Do you think you'll have that finished before they catch Weatherby and we'll no longer be stuck out here in exile like the vengeful children of a deposed king?" At least she looked up when he spoke. That was a start. "Of course, your average exiled prince bent on vengeance would have more to do, and probably a staff of minions to cater to his every whim. Remind me to put in a request for minions the next time this happens."

A soft laugh was her answer. Hermione's smile faded after a moment. Severus was sad to see it disappear.

"It won't be long now, Kingsley assured me himself. My information gave his Aurors several leads. Weatherby will be brought in soon, Miss Granger, and then you won't have to bear my company any longer."

She shook her head, staring into the fire. "It's not you, Severus -- sir."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he preferred it when she used his given name when she continued.

"It's Ron. We've had a disagreement."

That explained the two missing men; Harry must have taken Ron off to the surrounding woods to speak with him.

"Surely you've weathered disagreements in the past. Tomorrow he'll come crawling to you for forgiveness and that will be that."

The look she gave him spoke volumes about her frustration and his lack of understanding. "Not this time. Ron just assumed that after we get out of here we'd be announcing our engagement. Not that he bothered to ask if I wanted to marry him, he just assumed."

I never did think he was a bright boy.

"A few months ago, I would have been ecstatic at the idea. I've loved Ron for years. But this --" Her gesture encompassed the entire cottage. "This has clued me in one what it might be like, day after day. I'm expected to cook all the meals. He only makes an effort to pick up after himself when he's trying to stay on my good side. He left a pile of hole-ridden socks next to my chair last night, expecting me to darn them. I don't know how to darn a sock, when mine wear out I go shopping!"

Severus frowned. While he could see her point about not wanting to get stuck with all the chores in the household, surely if she made an attempt to explain it to Ron... Then again, perhaps not. "What did he say when you told him you expected him to help out?"

Her face twisted into a horrified expression, complete with pursed lips and wide eyes. "But -- but Mum doesn't make Dad do any of that, he's always out tinkering in his shed when he's home from work."

Personally, Severus didn't think Ron's voice was quite so high pitched, although the whinging tone was dead on. He also suspected that Arthur hid in the shed out of self-preservation, and that Molly preferred to take care of her house without her husband's interference because she wanted things done her way.

"I told him that I fully intended to have a career of my own, thank you very much. He told me that was perfectly alright with him, there'd be plenty of time to take care of the house and kids once I got home."

Somehow he managed to turn his bark of laughter into a coughing fit. Hermione continued to eye him suspiciously until the "coughing" died down. "That was generous of him."

"Very," she drawled. "Unfortunately, that was just the tip of the iceberg. If it was just the chores -- well, he's a man and men can be trained. Eventually." Hermione ignored his snort. "After we agreed to disagree for the time being, realizing that this really isn't the ideal situation to make judgments from, he wanted to kiss and make up."

Severus felt his stomach roll uncomfortably. He was certain that whatever tidbit of information was about to be dropped in his lap was something he did not want to hear. However, Hermione went back to her sewing without another word.

"That's it? He just wanted to make up and that -- is the horrendously bad thing?"

He couldn't be sure because her hair had fallen forward to hide most of her face from him, but he thought she was blushing.

"He wanted to kiss and make up."

"And?"

"And kissing began to lead to other things and when I said no, that I didn't feel comfortable engaging in that sort of activity in the house with you and Harry on the other side of a thin door -- he grew annoyed with me."

Since he was still breathing, Severus assumed -- surely if she'd killed him someone would have mentioned it -- Ron had probably managed to contain his annoyance somewhat. Severus nodded, encouraging her to continue even though she wasn't looking in his direction.

"I'm sure it was just the frustration talking, we have been here for a long time and I really haven't felt that comfortable sneaking off into the woods, but it still hurts to be told that there are women out there who would gladly darn socks and not leave their man out in the cold emotionally and physically and perhaps I might want to work on that if I wanted Ron to stay with me. I might have told him where to stuff it. He hasn't spoken to me since."

That would be a trifle difficult to forgive by tomorrow, yes. Refusing to contemplate whether or not he wanted Hermione and Ron to work through their differences, Severus reached out to cover her hand in his. He wrapped his fingers around her palm and squeezed gently.

"Someday, when he's had a chance to mature a bit more, he'll realize what a treasure he has in you, Hermione. You're intelligent, witty and beautiful. All in all, far too good for him, which means he will come to his senses and throw himself at your mercy in good time. All you need do is wait, if that is what you truly desire."

He met her gaze, staring into sweet brown eyes that would haunt his dreams for years to come, and squeezed her hand one last time. "I think I'll send word to Kingsley, see if he's heard any news on the Weatherby front. Good evening, Miss Granger."

-~-

Severus was the only one in the room who didn't jump when the green flames erupted from the grate. He'd been expecting a visit from Kingsley for days, growing more and more impatient each night.

That he had been right about Ron realizing that he'd nearly lost a good thing did nothing to counteract his disgust at being forced to watch the redhead fumbling about in his attempts to woo Hermione back. For the moment, it seemed, she was playing hard to get. Why, he refused to speculate.

That wasn't true, in the dead of night when the cottage was silent he had speculated plenty, even going so far as to come up with the ludicrous theory that Hermione might be turning her affections in another direction. His, if the shy glances she had thrown his way were any indication.

Which they weren't.

A tall, dark-skinned gentleman with a bald head stepped from the flames, straightening up and brushing soot off his clothes once he was clear of the mantel.

"Kingsley." Severus stood and nodded at their guest.

"Severus, Harry, Ron, Hermione." Kingsley offered a greeting to each of them in turn.

Hermione offered to get him something to drink, but Kingsley refused. "I'm actually here to bring you four home."

Ron and Harry both cheered. He could see that Hermione was pleased, but not quite as thrilled as her friends. She looked toward him, and Severus quickly focused his attention back to the Minister of Magic.

"Go pack your things, Molly and Arthur are waiting at the Burrow. So is Ginny, Harry." Kingsley caught Severus' eye and jerked his head toward the kitchen. With the two younger men rushing about the living area, trying to shove all of their belongings into a pair of rucksacks, Severus had little choice but to follow if he wanted to hear whatever it was that Kingsley wished to tell him.

Once they were far enough from the others to afford some modicum of privacy, the Minister began. "I'm afraid the news isn't good in your case, Severus."

"I had suspected as much. There aren't many who will be pleased to hear that I lived."

Kingsley shifted from one foot to the other, looking uneasy. "Even with Harry's testimony that you were working for the Order, for the good of the wizards everywhere, there are still those who will be calling for your head. Whether he asked you to or not, you still murdered one of the greatest heroes our people have known, and that's not something most will be willing to overlook. As a matter of fact, ever since it got out that your body had never actually been recovered, there have been rumblings.

"I'm afraid that once you are officially 'found,' you will be taken into custody to await a trial for war crimes. If it weren't for Dumbledore's death we might be able to garner enough sympathy and support to keep you out of Azkaban, but as it is..."

It didn't make Severus feel any better to see that Kingsley genuinely appeared upset. "I understand. It's out of your hands. I'll go prepare my things."

"Wait." Severus looked down at the hand gripping his arm, then up at Kingsley. "It's not out of my hands, yet. As of right now the only people who are positive you are still alive are the three in the other room, Molly and Arthur, and myself. That's it. I've already spoken to the Weasleys, and we've come to the agreement that if I don't step back through the Floo at the Burrow with you in tow, you died the night Voldemort fell. I'm willing to bet Harry, Ron and Hermione would agree to the same thing."

The noise from the other room indicated that their packing was almost complete. There wasn't much time.

"You'd let me go free. Just like that."

Kingsley smiled, teeth a startling white against his skin. "As far as I'm concerned, you're already dead. It would mean a lot of paperwork if you were to show up now." He held out his hand. "Send your doe in a few days, I've got a friend in London who can help get you started with your new life. In the meantime, you might consider a haircut and some new robes. Maybe something other than black, just until the rumors get a chance to die down."

Severus shook his hand. "That can be arranged."

"You're not coming with us, are you?" He should have expected that one of them would become curious. He also should have expected that it would be her. Kingsley released his hand and excused himself to check on the other two.

Once they were alone, Hermione crossed the room to stand before him.

"No, I'm not. How much did you hear?"

Her lower lip trembled. He closed his own eyes to deny the temptation to taste it.

"Enough to know that Severus Snape is a dead man. Will you -- Will I see you again?"

He felt the gentle pressure of her hand flat against his chest and opened his eyes to gaze down at her up-turned face.

To hell with good intentions and sanity. Severus closed the distance between them, finally pressing his lips against the sweetness of hers as he had wanted to do for weeks. Her lips parted with a breathless moan, and he surged forward to take advantage of it, arms wrapping around her frame to pull her closer. The kiss deepened; Severus wanted to learn her taste, her texture, everything that a kiss could offer, knowing that there would never be another one.

Finally, unsure of how much time had passed but grateful that there was no jealous boyfriend glaring at them from the doorway, Severus gently set Hermione away from him.

"I can't make any promises."

-~-

It was wet and freezing, which wasn't a surprise to Severus considering it was London in February. Yet he continued to stand in the shadows of the alley, watching the same stoop that he'd been staring at for the last half hour. If he wasn't careful someone would report him as a suspicious character.

Which I clearly am.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, toes nearly frozen solid.

Finally, after a deep breath for courage, Severus crossed the street and placed a large package wrapped in plain brown paper on the stoop. He rang the bell, then hurried back to his alley, blending in with the shadows just far enough that he shouldn't be spotted.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Hermione's head of untamed hair appeared. She looked up and down the street, puzzled not to find anyone waiting on the stoop, then bent down to pick up the package. A moment's examination to find her name and address written in ink across the front of the box, and she drew the package into her home, shutting the door behind her.

Severus tried to picture the expression on her face as she tore away the paper, pried open the box, and gently parted the nest of tissue paper. What was she thinking as she looked at the well loved, if slightly worn and faded, quilt that had been so painstakingly crafted by his mother decades ago?

Would she even remember?

Just when he'd begun to think this had all been a waste of time, her door opened once more. Hermione stood shivering on the stoop, arms wrapped around herself for warmth, desperately looking for someone.

He saw her face light up when he stepped out of the alley, Severus finally felt the tension melt away.

She beckoned him into her home, and into her arms. Exactly where he wanted to be.