Characters are property of J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter Universe. Thankfully, she allows me to borrow them for a bit of fun.

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Chapter One

The Proposal


A loud crack echoed down a narrow, littered street. To any Muggle, the sound was caused by the massive storm brewing overhead. The real reason, however, was Apparation. There, at the end of a rain drenched street in Cokeworth, stood a woman who was obviously out-of-place. Hermione Granger regarded the tiny township and was not impressed in the least. Cokeworth was an industrial town— or rather had been in its prime. Now, Cokeworth was a town of run down red brick and broken people. The brick covering the identical rows of houses actually looked black, but this was due in part to the vast number of tall chimneys that spewed ash and smoke over the years.

"Disgusting," she muttered aloud.

Pulling her coat around her to block out the rather intrusive and unseasonal chill of August, Hermione turned her gaze upwards. A grey, misty drizzle hung in the air, washing the color from everything it touched. It was drab. It was bleak. It was downright depressing when one took a minute to actually pay it some thought. Had it not been for the thick snake-like wisps of smoke permeating from the last remaining inhabited homes, she would have pegged this place as a bona fide ghost town.

A loud clap of thunder brought her back to the reason for being in such a deplorable place in the first place. Retrieving a neatly folded sheet of parchment from her coat, Hermione opened it to examine the address. She was looking for the last house on a street called Spinner's End. She was looking for his house. Stuffing the parchment back in her pocket, she pulled up her hood and took off down the deserted streets.

She was all but swallowed up by the rubbish-strewn streets. She reasoned that if someone wasn't familiar with this township they could easily get lost in the monotony of it all. Cokeworth was a town of similarities. Each house she passed looked identical to the one before it and the one that came after it. The only building different from all the rest was the old textile mill that stood ominously some distance away. That must have been how Spinner's End received its name. Hermione had done a bit of research prior to her unannounced visit. She knew, at one point, that Spinner's End had been a respectable neighborhood, full of respectable people trying to make a respectable living. Somewhere along the way, however, the textile mill left the area for greener pastures and the respectable working people followed. Those left were simply unlucky by circumstance or were of the unsavory variety that could not have cared less about anything, least of all bettering their situation. The Muggle term for those sorts of people was either a deadbeat or a bum. Regardless of what they called themselves, that was all that was left in this town.

As she continued her walk, Hermione eventually found herself walking along a river's edge. The recent rainfall seemed to have kicked up the stench from the waterway and amplified it by ten. It was a repulsive, rancid smell—almost like milk that had been left out to warm and coagulate in the hot summer sun. She brought her gloved hand to her nose in an attempt to keep the sour odor at bay, eventually resorting to breathing through her mouth to find relief. The fact that Severus Snape lived in such a place was a hard pill to swallow. She was not sure why he lived at Spinner's End because he had been given a hefty sum of money from the Ministry of Magic for his heroic service during the Second Wizarding War. He could certainly afford better, so the reason must lie with some deep-seated emotional attachment to the area. Hermione made a mental note to bring it up, if he agreed to her proposal.

Hermione spotted his house at the end of the street. Smoke rose up from the chimney, indicating he was home. Gathering her courage, she started down the dirty street. She stopped directly in front of the walk leading up to his door, noticing his house was one of the nicer ones. That really only meant the yard was not overgrown and the windows were not boarded over. His house was the same dirty black-red color as the ones surrounding it. Some of the singles were missing and the windows could do with a good washing, both inside and out. Taking a final deep breath, Hermione walked up the pavement, dodging the puddles of water that had pooled in the cracks. Reaching the door, she extended her hand and rapped on the door a few times for good measure. Almost instantly, the dingy curtains covering the equally grimy window swayed slightly. Hermione could not see in the darkened window, but she knew he could see her just fine. Seconds later, the door opened with a pitiful groan, revealing Severus Snape in all of his glory.

She had not seen the man in nearly fourteen years, but he had not aged a day. In fact, he looked considerably better than Hermione could ever remember him from her days at Hogwarts. His complexion was still pallid but his features weren't nearly as sharp. He had not gone soft by any stretch of the imagination but he seemed to carry himself a bit differently. Perhaps it was the lack of his familiar teaching robes or the dark slacks and white button down oxford he was wearing, or it might have been the fact he was in his sock feet with just the slightest hint of a five o'clock shadow. Whatever the case, he seemed different, almost approachable. Regrettably, that notion died as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Are you going to stand there gawking like a fool, or are you going to tell me why you have decided to disrupt my afternoon?"

Hermione's mouth shut with an audible snap. She would not let him get the upper hand. "I'm here to speak to you."

Severus only raised an eyebrow in response. "I gathered that much, Miss Granger. What, pray tell, do you wish to discuss with me?" Severus regarded the woman standing outside in the rain as he waited for her reply. The Gryffindor swot had grown into her hair, or she had finally managed to tame the beast atop her head. She was still slim, but definitely a woman—though not the woman he had expected her to be. No, if someone would have asked him to describe Hermione Granger fourteen years after the war he would have said she would have had a redheaded Weasley spawn attached to each ankle and one on each hip. Oddly enough, she had curves, but not the curves of someone who had mothered children. Her curves were the curves of a mature woman—the sort of soft yet firm lines that had the potential to govern men should the beholder choose to be sovereign that is. As his eyes traveled up her body, he was amused by her expression. After all these years, he had not lost his touch. A single look had the ability to maim a thought before it could even be considered a thought. Severus smiled inwardly at that idea, though his face gave away no such thrill.

"Yes, well," she managed to grind out under his intense scrutiny, "it is about the letters Minerva sent you; the ones requesting your presence at Hogwarts."

"You mean the letters she wrote asking me to return as a Deputy Headmaster and Potions Professor? Surely the Headmistress is not so daft as to think my lack of response merits a visit from one of her professors? Read my lips, Miss Granger: I do not want to and am not going to go back to Hogwarts. If that is all you want, I bid you a pleasant day."

Snape made to shut the door in her face, but Hermione stuck her foot in the way just in time. "Minerva is ill!"

That seemed to get his attention. Hermione noticed his features take on a sudden look of concern. It did not last long. Before she could blink his face morphed back to its usual expressionless, emotionless pose. "if that is the case, I offer my condolences to the Headmistress. If we are finished here, might I suggest you remove your foot from my stoop before you force me to smash it off? I am in no mood to clean up a mess."

"You will listen to what I have to say Severus Snape, because Minerva McGonagall's life depends on it. Now, might I suggest you let me in before I take your front door off its hinges? You would have a rather large mess to clean up then."

The two of them exchanged glares for some time before Severus finally pulled the door open once more. He gestured for her to come in, though Hermione could tell his exaggerated gentlemanly motion was really meant to mock. As soon as she entered his cramped sitting room Hermione noticed that Severus Snape was not a house cleaner. She secretly wondered if he had forgotten he was a wizard given the general untidiness of his home. There were spells for such things after all. Books of all sizes lined two of the four walls with no particular rhyme or reason for their spots on the shelves. Hermione had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from organizing them with a single, well placed spell. Several empty inkwells and their respective quills were strewn about on various surfaces as well as the floor. She noticed an old leather wingback chair sitting in the corner with sheets of parchment tucked into its cushions. That must be where he roosts, she thought to herself.

"What exactly do you want me to do, Miss Granger? I am not a Healer and what little experience I have with healing charms and spells would be vastly inadequate to someone who has received formal training."

"I know you're not a Healer," she said as she sat down in his chair. This rewarded her with a frigid glare from her ungracious host. "That's why I'm here. I have been told Minerva is beyond a Healer's touch."

"Are you out of your mind?" Severus demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

Hermione laughed uneasily. "No, I can assure you all of my mental facilities are up to par. I am here because I am desperate. I am here because you are a last resort. I need your help, Professor."

"I am not a professor," he corrected sharply, "so if you would please refrain from using such a title."

"Of course, sir. Pardon me. As I was saying, I need your help… " she trailed off sheepishly, remembering how he hated when someone stated the obvious more than once.

"Yes, you mentioned something about the Headmistress being ill. I fail to see how I can help you in that regard."

"I need someone with a keen eye. Someone who can pick up on the details others fail to notice. The fact you are a Potions Master is an added bonus, as your brewing skills will be necessary."

"I still have no idea what you are asking me to do." Severus said, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Do you truly not know yourself, or are you employing some sort of delusional, underhanded tactic in an attempt to sway me? Out with it woman. Why are you here?"

Hermione was silent for a few moments as she pondered his statement. Minerva would be furious if she knew what her Transfiguration Mistress was up to. Then again, Hermione reasoned Minerva was not exactly herself these days given her condition. Regardless of the Headmistress's opinion of the matter, she knew Severus Snape was not a man to keep in the dark. Hermione knew if she was going to get him to agree to what needed to be done, she would have tell him outright what she wanted from him. "Fine. I am here because I want you to help me make her better. I want you to help me determine who or what has brought her to such a state."

Severus propped himself up against the wall, examining his finely trimmed nails in an attempt to seem uninterested in her request. Truth be told, he was biting at the bit to know exactly what the problem was. "What, exactly, is her current state?"

"Her magic is failing her," Hermione said, a noticeable quiver in her voice. "Are you aware of what happens when magic leaves the body?"

"I have heard of the theories, yes. When magic leaves the body, it takes pieces of the person's soul with it. When the magic is gone, all that will remain of the person is a shell."

Hermione nodded faintly. "It is an agonizing end for someone to endure. The person will eventually cease to exist in the world. The physical body will continue to function until the organs fail, as it will be in a complete vegetative state, kept alive by the magic of others. I never knew such a thing could happen. I have only been able to find evidence of two such cases since the records have been kept. Minerva is one of them. The other was a fourteenth century wizard by the name of Fendrel Rowntree. Specialists of medieval magic have little to no explanation. The condition doesn't even have a name. Which leads me to believe it isn't a condition at all but rather—"

"Let me guess," Severus added. "Some sort of Dark magic?"

"Yes. But I can't—"

"Find any such curse, hex, jinx or Dark spell that will yield such results?"

Snape's interrupting was starting to irritate her, but she tried to ignore it. She knew first-years with better manners. "Right, "Hermione said as politely as she could manage. " I can't find anything, but perhaps someone else could…"

Suddenly, everything clicked; the reason Hermione Granger was here, the reason she had come to call on him after absolutely no contact for the past fourteen years. Severus already knew her response but he asked regardless. If she said it aloud he would have a reason to throw her out. "What makes you think I would have any idea?" He noticed Hermione glance at the trace of the Dark Mark covering his exposed forearm. There it is, he thought. Instinctively, Snape moved his arm behind his back to shield the symbol of his past transgressions from her gaze. "You thought I would know given my sordid past?" he asked, the agitation now readily apparent in his tone.

"I wouldn't have worded it that way, but yes. You have experience with the Dark Arts."

"What you are suggesting is absolutely ludicrous. A witch or wizard's magic tends to falter slightly with old age."

"I'm well aware of that, but remember Minerva will turn seventy-seven in October. She has a lot of life ahead of her. Disruptions in magic tend to come in the very late stages of a wizard's life. Dumbledore was one hundred-fifteen at the time of his… death. From what Harry has told me of his last few hours, he was still very powerful and in control of his magic."

"Each witch and wizard is different. A person's magical signature is just as individual as the prints on his or her fingertips." Hermione rubbed her hands over her face. This was not going the way she wanted at all.

"I don't know how else to do this," she said aloud to herself.

"I'm not surprised," he said with a sneer.

Hermione refused to rise to his bait. She knew the best way to handle Severus Snape would be to ignore his jabs no matter how much she wanted to hex him into the coming week for being such a selfish arse. Realizing she was nearing the end of her arsenal, Hermione decided to go to the last resort. She would put the ball firmly in his court. He could not refuse her then.

Hermione removed a small box from her pocket—her secret weapon. She sat it on the table in front of Snape, opening it to reveal an ornately designed inkwell. It glistened with a certain familiarity Severus could not place as she spoke. "This is a Portkey. As you no longer have access to the castle, I thought this would be best. It will take you directly to my personal chambers. The term hasn't started yet, so there are no students. The staff members are off doing the last of their holiday things before the term begins. It is just Minerva and me."

"Minerva doesn't know you are here, does she?"

Hermione blanched. "No, she does not. She hoped to lure you back to the castle by offering you a teaching position. I fear the real reason she wants to see you is because she has come to terms with what is happening."

"She has accepted it, but you will not?"

"I cannot and I will not do that. But I can't do this on my own. I have exhausted all of my resources. The Healers at St. Mungo's say it is only a matter of time…"

"Then perhaps they are right, Miss Granger. People die every day. Minerva is not exempt from this fact of life."

Hermione slammed her fists down on the table, causing the aged wood to squeak in protest. "Damn it, Snape! I am telling you something isn't right!"

Severus cleared his throat at her sudden outburst. She was adamant which intrigued him most of all. "Yes, you have made it very clear you think something suspicious is afoot."

"I'm saying I do not think her ailment is natural. Her magic is depleting more and more every, single day. The Healers have given up on her. They do nothing but shake their heads. They are incompetent twits, the whole lot. She needs better and, unfortunately for me and for you, you are better. She is hardly able to summon a chair, let alone do the magic required to keep Hogwarts running smoothly."

"Are you seriously implying that someone may have done this purposefully? That someone has done this with a genuine intention to cause her harm?"

"Yes, that is what I believe. I have no proof other than the fact it was a sudden onset and has become worse as the weeks have gone on. It is a long shot, but it is also a gut feeling."

"And if I decide to do this?"

Bingo, she thought. She had him hook, line, and sinker. "Then bless you for doing what's right. I will be greatly appreciative of your help and I will cover any costs your research would demand. Minerva would finally stop worrying over you and focus on beating this damned thing."

"Would you expect me to stay at the castle?"

"It would be easier," Hermione said, standing up from his leather chair, "but I would understand if it isn't something you are willing to do. Please know I don't expect an answer today, but I would like to know what you have decided soon." Hermione walked toward the door, brushing past the sour man still leaning on the wall. "Thank you for your time, sir. I'm sorry to have disrupted your afternoon. Whatever you decide, you can simply send a letter by owl post informing me of your intentions. I need time to make the proper arrangements for whatever happens. I don't want you to do this for me. I want you to do it for her."With that, Snape's house guest said nothing else as she saw herself out.

Once he was free from his unannounced visitor, Severus was left with a hell of a lot to consider. Running a hand through his hair, he sauntered over to his still-warm chair. He sat there a long while before finally leaning over to pluck the small box from his coffee table, careful to not touch the Portkey. As soon as he was close enough to take a decent look at it he recognized the inkwell-turned-Portkey. It used to belong to him. Minerva had given it to him as a gift his first year of teaching. He remembered the day he found it on his desk for the simple fact it had been the only good thing about his first day as an educator.

Severus sulked down the hall toward his private quarters. Had it not been for the fact he wasn't wearing a house uniform, he would have passed for an awkward seventh year. Twenty-one years old and responsible for molding and shaping the up-and-coming generation. It would not have been that bad had they not taken him as seriously as a Cornish Pixie. Most of the current students had been his school mates just a few years ago. There wasn't a soul at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry who did not know someone, or know of somebody who knew of someone who had experienced Severus Snape as a student. It would be a hard stigma to break and he would have to do it soon if he was going to teach Wizarding Britain's youth anything about the subtle science of potion making. As he walked and thought, Severus came to the realization that he despised the idea of having to wake in the morning and trudge through another day like the one he had just had. He knew exactly what he wanted— a stiff drink and the privacy of his own rooms.

As soon as he opened the door to his rooms he saw it. There, sitting upon his desk, was a small box wrapped in the colors of his house. He eyed it with suspicion, as if it would jump off the table at any second and come after him. It had to have been a joke, or gag of some sort. He approached his desk, noticing the 'gift' sat on a sheet of neatly folded parchment. Taking his wand, he scooted the box off the parchment revealing the seal of the Gryffindor Head of House, Minerva McGonagall. Picking up the letter, he broke the red wax seal and began to read her neat penmanship.

News travels fast within these walls, Severus. Even if it didn't, one would have to be practically blind to see how miserable you look. If I can offer you any advice, this would be it: You have earned the right to be here. You have earned the right for the simple reason that an educator who is fond of learning earns the entitlement and the capacity to help others learn. Never forget that. Never forget they are your students. Never forget you are their teacher. Stop sulking about and start behaving like you deserve their respect. - Minerva

Placing the opened letter on the table, he grabbed the tiny box and started to rip off its wrappings. Slowly, he removed the box's top revealing the nicest thing anyone had ever gotten him—an inkwell. The pristine sterling and crystal vessel sparkled as he picked it up to give it a proper inspection. The hallmark etched into the metal cap read 'SS,'—his initials. It was a terribly personal and thoughtful gift. Only Minerva would so something like this. From that day forward, thanks in part to her words of advice and his will to prove himself, twenty-something Severus Snape became the educator countless had come to remember.

Damn Hermione Granger.

She had played him directly into her hands. The woman had to have some Slytherin blood in her to use such a tactic to get his attention. Though he would never admit it, it was sheer genius. Severus hadn't seen his inkwell for years. He had, in fact, been sure it had been destroyed when the castle was partially torn down during the final battle. He wrote it off as an irreplaceable loss, expecting to never see it again. It appeared life had other plans for him because there the blasted thing was, sitting in a box in his hand, forcing him to remember the ailing woman who had given it to him.

He and Minerva had always had an interesting relationship, the two of them managing to tolerate one another over the years. Some would have called it friendship. Severus, however, called it more of a mutual understanding. The two of them would often engage in verbal fisticuffs, neither of them serious, of course, but it was the spirit of the exchange they both favored. He had spoken to her occasionally after the war, but had not had a genuine conversation with the woman in quite some time. If it was as Hermione Granger said, he would not have much time to speak with her.

Severus sat the inkwell and its box back on the table before leaning back in his chair. He knew what he had to do. In the morning, after fourteen long years, Severus Snape would be returning to Hogwarts.

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Author's Notes: I would like to extend a very special thank you to my betas for this story, Meladara and Desigrl. Without them, I would have never made it past this first chapter. I want to thank all of you who read and take the time to review. I do this for you. As always, reviews are welcomed and appreciated more than you could possibly imagine. Happy Reading to all!