Elementary

It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Scandal in Bohemia (1891)


August 19, 1998

“Oh, no sir, don’t try to sit up on your own—you’ll start your neck bleeding again.”

Snape tried to whip his head around to see the owner of the voice, but found he could not turn his head at all. In fact, he was stuck staring at a rather unremarkable cream ceiling with a single utterly practical Muggle light fixture. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a decidedly undignified, whispery squeak. His felt like there were shards of glass embedded in his esophagus.

“I’ve just immobilized your neck,” Miss Granger told him, carefully moving into his line of sight. She looked bedraggled and weary, dark circles underneath her eyes, which in a moment had gone from suspiciously bright to decidedly wary. “If you’ll allow me to, Professor, I can assist you in getting into a sitting position. I’ve some Wiggenweld Potion, which will help you recover your voice. Then I’d be happy to answer any questions.”

Snape schooled his features into a look of acquiescence. Miss Granger gave him a doubtful glance, but whipped out her wand to lighten him with a modified Mobilicorpus, and then slipped one arm under his back and the other under his head and tipped him upright.

Snape blinked twice as his view shifted, allowing him to take in more of the room than just the ceiling. The walls were an unremarkable eggshell blue at the top, but were mostly obscured by bookshelves jammed in tightly next to one another, seemingly trying to edge out the window on one wall and coming near to obscuring the doorway on another. As the room continued to tilt into view, he noticed that he was lying on a simple full-sized bed on top of an eggshell blue eiderdown that matched the walls. There was a small bureau to his right that held a picture of the Golden Trio, waving madly at the camera, in front of which sat a large dark blue armchair. On a table to his left were a multitude of flasks and vials, two-thirds of which were empty and the rest filled with colorful liquids. There were also a number of heavy tomes, both familiar wizarding and unfamiliar Muggle, all of which looked to be on the subject of Healing. He realized he had a terrible headache.

“Just in case you’re wondering, sir,” said Miss Granger, conversationally, her voice shaking only a little as she reached for the promised vial of bright blue potion, “Voldemort’s dead, Harry’s alive, and Hogwarts, though somewhat of a mess at the moment, stands.”

She kept one hand behind his head, frowned, tilted him back somewhat, and then, after he’d discreetly sniffed the potion and determined that it was, indeed, Wiggenweld, he allowed her to pour the potion down his throat. He swallowed convulsively, trying not to gag.

She sat him upright once more and drew back slowly, watching him carefully, then nodded once, satisfied. “That should do it, Professor.”

Snape felt his headache ease, and the terrible sharp pain in his throat subsided. “I can’t imagine that is still a valid title with which to address me,” he said, more to test out his speech than anything else. His voice was gravelly, but unmistakably his.

To his shock, the girl had the impertinence to giggle. She then looked properly horrified and clapped her hands over her mouth. And then she began to giggle again.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m, sorry, Professor,” she managed to force out, her reddened cheeks framed by her halo of unruly hair. “It’s just, well, it’s nerves. And relief. And exhaustion. First off, you’re talking, and I really wasn’t sure you’d ever do that again. And I’m just a bit nervous because I haven’t finished my NEWTs and you’re, technically speaking, still the Headmaster of Hogwarts and you’re currently lying in my bed after I’ve done not a little unauthorized healing and been subjected to a dark-ish spell... “

As she’d blathered on, Snape took stock of his body, and he found that other than being unable to move his neck, everything else seemed intact. He found himself to be clad in a matching light blue cotton shirt and pants set, such as he’d seen Muggle doctors wear. Stiffly, he shifted his body to the side of the bed nearest Miss Granger. In doing so, his hand closed around his wand, which, in an appalling show of trust, she’d apparently laid by his hand. Silently, he remobilized his neck. He felt the skin pull a little as he slowly bent it, but it seemed to be healed.

Miss Granger was still talking in a high, rapid voice “…and I didn’t know if it would work—but I’m quite relieved to see that it has—but now you’re probably back at full strength and seem hopping mad and nobody knows where I am, which was necessary, but now seems somewhat unadvisable with your glaring at me like that, but of course that means that you’re better, which is almost unbelievable, to tell the truth, and I haven’t slept in days and—and it’s over. We won and you’re alive and—and now all I’ve got to do is collect my parents and then it’s really all going to be okay.”

And Miss Granger, much to Snape’s consternation, proceeded to burst into tears.

Snape had some experience with female hysterics as the head of Slytherin house. He knew steering them to a topic peripheral to the one upsetting them was the easiest and least humiliating way to allow them to collect themselves.

“The Light won, and yet nobody’s bothered to remove me from my post?” he asked, incredulously, his voice squeaking a little on the question, making him wince.

“Well, considering that you’re a hero and getting a posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class, there didn’t seem to be any rush to officially install a new headmaster,” Miss Granger hiccupped, not very discreetly wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

He took the opportunity of her inattention to swing his feet over the side of the bed and try his feet, which he found were surprisingly steady beneath him. “Posthumous Order of Merlin?” His voice was still a little rusty-sounding, but this time he’d managed to keep the timber deep and even.

“First class,” she nodded, her voice muffled by her robes. Seeming to realize that she hadn’t actually answered his question, she looked up and noticed his position, now standing two feet away from her. Her eyes widened as she took in his upright position, and her bottom lip quivered slightly, whether in trepidation from his looming over her or due to her recent crying, he did not know.

“Harry announced your true loyalties to everyone during his final face-off with Voldemort,” Miss Granger told him, her chin up, somewhat defiantly. “This was after Harry had a chance to watch your memories in Professor Dumbledore’s Pensieve,” she involuntarily grimaced at this statement, to Snape’s confusion, “and after Voldemort thought he’d killed Harry in the Forbidden Forest. So everyone now knows you worked for the Light, and everything you did for us.”

He’d moved infinitesimally closer. “That does not explain the posthumous, Miss Granger.”

“I didn’t tell anyone you survived Nagini’s bite,” Miss Granger said, her chin dropping a bit, her voice suddenly so soft he had to strain to hear her. “Ron and Harry were both under the impression that they’d watched you die, and I didn’t bother to correct them. I thought after all you’d been through it should be your decision if you wanted to continue to deal with all of us, after the way we’d treated you, after everything you’d been through.” Her hands were shaking. “I had you in stasis with the help of an exceedingly old and somewhat squiffy charm, and as soon as the funerals were over and the celebrations had died down, I took you to my house and did the best I could to heal you.“

“Ah,” said Snape, as if this explained everything. He watched the girl closely. She seemed on the verge of collapse.

“And now, sir, you can Obliviate me and go on your way,” Hermione said, swaying a bit. “And I can go find my parents…”

“Of course,” said Snape. He raised his wand.

Miss Granger gazed up at him with huge, innocent eyes.

He sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Quiesco curotio,” he said, and flicked his wand.

Miss Granger’s body went limp, and Snape caught her, deftly scooping her up and placing her on her bed. From the looks of her, she would need a good twelve hours of healing sleep at the least, and she’d likely wake up hungry. In the meantime, he might as well get some sleep himself, and he set off to explore the remainder of Miss Granger’s home for a suitable bed.

---

Snape watched Miss Granger take the cup and saucer from him as she sat propped up against her pillows in her light blue dressing gown, and was amused that she sniffed the tea carefully, and then seemed to give a mental shrug, before bringing it to her lips.

He sat in the armchair across from the bed and balanced his own cup and saucer on his knee. He now wore a pair of grey trousers, transfigured to fit, and white button down shirt that he had found in the closet of the other bedroom. On the dresser, far from the potions, but well within reach of the Potions master, sat a plate of biscuits.

Miss Granger was watching him intently. “I can’t help but to notice you’re still here, Professor,” she said, setting her tea down in her saucer, her hands now entirely steady. “Does that mean you plan to rejoin the living?”

Snape lifted the plate of biscuits from the dresser and leaned forward, plate of biscuits extended. “Have a biscuit, Miss Granger,” he said, dryly.

She delicately picked one up, turned it over in her hands, and sniffed it, looking a bit uncertain.

“They were taken unadulterated from the package in the cupboard,” Snape added.

Miss Granger had the courtesy to blush. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, Miss Granger, thank you.” He inclined his head towards her. “You not only saved my life, but you had the forethought to anticipate that I might not want to be tied to my former existence. You have, quite neatly, provided me with the opportunity to be free.”

Miss Granger inclined her head. “Sir, please believe that after all you’ve done for us, it was the very least I could do. But I did expect you to be halfway to Antigua by now.”

“Miss Granger, before you had your much-needed respite,” Snape said to her, and she blushed again, apparently recalling her hysterics of the previous evening, “you said that you would be happy to answer any questions. I have a number that you did not adequately address. Some may be material as to whether I decide to stay or go.”

“Of course, Professor,” she replied with a nod.

Snape took a biscuit himself. They were shortbread, and quite good, having availed himself of a couple before Miss Granger had woken up. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, thinking of how to word his first question without overly upsetting his host. “Can you tell me who from the Order survived?”

Miss Granger looked up at him sharply, apparently not expecting that to have been his first question. She took a deep breath. “Most of the Order survived. But we lost Remus and Tonks and Fred.” Her voice was strained.

“My condolences,” Severus said, doing his best to mask his upset. Tonks was little more than a child, really, and Remus, though he had never liked him, had been the best of the Marauders. Certainly neither deserved to die so soon after the birth of their son. And Fred—that hurt. He’d harbored rather a soft spot for the Weasley twins, because they really had paid scrupulous attention in Potions class, albeit for their own ends. He took another bite of his biscuit, which suddenly didn’t taste nearly as good, but he was making an effort to appear casual, believing it would keep Miss Granger calm. “Did we lose any students?” he asked.

“We lost little Colin Creevey. And Vincent Crabbe died when we were hunting down the second to last—third to last—Horcrux, when the Fiendfyre he’d cast got out of control. We weren’t able to save him.”

Snape closed his eyes, feeling a sharp stab of failure along with his grief. “And Draco?” Snape asked, before he was able to stop himself.

Hermione suppressed a smile, shaking her head. “He’s alive, along with both of his parents. He never actually lifted his wand against us, you know. And Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldemort, telling him that Harry had died as a result of Voldemort’s Killing Curse. Lucius was barely involved in the final battle, what with Narcissa’s influence. There’s talk he may escape Azkaban. Again.” Hermione sounded quite put out at this last.

Snape smirked in spite of himself. “They are very good at self-preservation, the Malfoys… And the rest of the Death Eaters?”

“Mostly captured, many killed. Mrs. Weasley got Bellatrix after she tried to kill Ginny—I honestly didn’t know she could fight like that—and Neville decapitated Nagini.” Snape started at this, and Miss Granger smiled, mischievously. “Scabior’s gone, and I know a number of Snatchers went down, as well.”

“I can’t say they’ll be greatly missed,” Snape said. He was silent a moment. “How did Potter survive his second Killing Curse?”

“I don’t think we’ll ever know for certain,” Miss Granger said. “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore would say something about sacrifice and love and Voldemort’s magic crumbling because of his lack of soul, but,” she added cheekily, “I’m more inclined to believe it was because he was at least nominally in possession of all three Deathly Hallows at the time.”

Snape choked on his tea. “Was he?”

Miss Granger nodded, sipping her tea.

“And does he still have them?”

“Only his father’s cloak. The others were lost or well-hidden.” She pressed her lips firmly together, indicating she would say no more about the subject. Snape thought this was rather a good strategy, considering the potency of the items in question. He watched Miss Granger select another biscuit.

“Can you at least tell me how Potter managed to convince the Light that I was on their side?” Snape asked, waiting until she had taken a bite.

Hermione choked on the biscuit and she went a little pale. “Well, considering everyone thought you were dead, it didn’t actually take as much convincing as if they’d thought you were still around and potentially dangerous.” She was clearly stalling. Snape thought he knew why, and if his suspicions were correct, it would be a very compelling reason for him to remain deceased.

“His argument, Miss Granger?”

She looked down at her tea, studying it as if it held the answer. “He told them you were Dumbledore’s man from the beginning… because of Harry’s mum.”

“He did.” Snape’s voice was entirely expressionless.

Miss Granger apparently recognized this as the danger sign it was. “Actually, he strategically revealed it to Voldemort right before their final confrontation.” She looked at Snape, a quick glance from underneath her lashes, and looked relieved as Snape slowly nodded. “It did get around, though,” she added, mumbling, looking at her tea, again.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Naturally.” Was it Antigua that she’d suggested?

Miss Granger had gone back to her biscuit, and was draining the last dregs of her tea.

“I only have one more question, Miss Granger, and then I will leave you to your plans,” Snape said.

“By all means, Professor.” She waved her empty teacup at him, looking like she was now quite at her leisure.

“How in Merlin’s name did the three of you know I was on your side before Potter viewed my memories?”

“We didn’t.” All of a sudden, the confident Miss Granger was gone, and the girl was studying her teacup, again.

“No?”

“No, sir. We certainly didn’t know.” The emphasis on the last word was so slight, Snape was unsure if he’d imagined it.

“So you decided to save the life of the traitor who killed Albus on a whim.”

Miss Granger winced. “Not…entirely.”

“So my true loyalties were not known?”

“They certainly weren’t known. But they were…deduced.”

Snape leaned back in his chair, feeling that he was finally getting somewhere. “Deduced? How? When?”

“Well, I guess I figured it out the night before Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. But—there’s more to it than that…”

“That long ago? My, Miss Granger, Albus did poorly when he neglected having you contribute to the war strategy.”

Miss Granger blushed, seeming unsure as to whether or not he was mocking her, which he was, but only a little. She, obviously erring on the side of caution, demurred. “Oh, no, strategy’s Ron’s thing. He figures out how to make a plan into reality. I’m just good at seeing patterns in the facts.”

“Do tell.”

Miss Granger put her empty cup and saucer by her side, straightened her back, and lifted her chin. “Professor Snape, I apologize if you are in a hurry to go, but this is rather a long story, and I’m honestly still ravenous and I haven’t had a shower since Thursday last. Would you mind particularly if we postponed the rest of this discussion until after I’ve cleaned up? And then we could continue this over a proper breakfast?”

Snape nodded, seeing as he really wasn’t in much of a hurry to go anywhere, being dead. His curiosity could wait for the more complete explanation that she would provide when she was clean and fed. “That would be acceptable, Miss Granger.”

---

“I must say I never expected you to make eggs, Professor. After bringing me tea this morning, I feel as if you’re hosting me.” Miss Granger took a large bite of sausage and egg.

They were sitting in the kitchen, a bright room with large windows facing an overgrown lawn. The table was made of the same light-colored wood as the cabinet, and the walls were done up in a pale mint green that was tasteful but immediately forgettable.

“Considering I had plenty of time to put myself together before you woke up this morning and you were otherwise occupied, it seemed reasonable for me to prepare breakfast.” Snape had been amused at the look of shock on Miss Granger’s face when she had come downstairs in her Muggle clothes and seen him cracking eggs over a saucepan.

Miss Granger had eaten about half her breakfast with a single-minded determination that Snape had only seen before among the Weasleys when she rested her fork on the table. “Thank you for being so patient, sir. I’m feeling quite recovered. You are welcome to continue your interrogation.”

Snape magnanimously chose not to comment on her choice of words. “You were going to take me through an exercise in deductive reasoning.”

“Right,” Miss Granger nodded. “Well, the evening before Professor Dumbledore’s funeral, we were all sitting in the common room discussing…you, and we fell into silence. The next thing I knew, I was aware again and it was probably nearing three in the morning, and Harry made some comment about us all having fallen asleep. Ron got up in a dazed state and left for the boys’ dormitory. Once he was gone, Harry asked if I could Obliviate him. He claimed that he’d had a nightmare, and requested that I remove all of the time we’d been asleep, just to make sure there was nothing left of his dreams.” She snorted. “Harry is an absolutely terrible liar, especially when he feels guilty about it. But I Obliviated him anyway, and then, as he was coming back to himself, I figured out what had just happened.”

“You had all Obliviated each other.”

“Excellent, Professor!”

“Elementary,” he said.

“And that’s when I decided that I really couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do my best to get you through the war. I was likely the only person in the Order who had any idea what side you were on, which meant I was your only chance. ”

“Slow down, Miss Granger. I don’t see how you jumped from the fact that you’d removed the memory of a few hours from each others’ minds to the idea that I must be working for the Light.”

“Well, it was the only plausible conclusion. There was no fact, other than your being on the right side, that we simply could not know. If we slipped up, or if, Merlin forbid, Harry let it get through to Voldemort through their connection, we’d have impeded the entire war effort. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“And you didn’t go looking for any proof to this assertion? You simply decided to put me in stasis, should the need arise?”

“Well, I had to learn how to do it first, but yes. You see, I couldn’t look for proof.”

“Couldn’t?” Snape lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re implying I was being impetuous, and perhaps I was. It was three in the morning and I was leaving Hogwarts the next day, and it was then or never. But really, I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“For two reasons: first, if I proved it, I’d be right back where I started before Harry, Ron, and I Obliviated each other. If I only suspected it, it was much safer. If I was captured or couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I was just a daft schoolgirl who refused to believe certain basic facts. I didn’t even do a Prior Incantato on my wand to see if maybe I’d Obliviated Ron, too. It was better to only suspect.”

“And the second reason?”

“I’d been batting the idea around of asking Harry to see his memory of Dumbledore’s death in a Pensieve. I was hoping that it being a key point in the war, it might help up elucidate Death Eater strategy. But when I woke up from my little ‘nap’ in the common room, I had no wish to ever look in a Pensieve again. I figured I’d just written it off as a bad idea at first, but the more I thought about it in the days to come, the more I realized it still made logical sense, but that I had developed an aversion to it. I must have cursed myself or the like so I couldn’t watch the proof that you hadn’t wanted to kill Dumbledore.”

Snape felt his hands twitch on the table even as his face remained impassive, and he casually folded them together. “You haven’t finished telling me your story, Miss Granger,” he said, after a moment.

She took pity on him, and continued. “I went to the Room of Requirement to learn how to and prepare to put you in stasis in a way that made it look like you were dead. Interestingly, I had to get the ingredients from…elsewhere. In any case, if it turned out that my suspicions were wrong, I could just let the stasis charm wear off without trying to cure you.” She spoke in a chillingly matter-of-fact manner. Snape blinked. He and Albus had made soldiers out of these children.

Miss Granger continued. “If caught in the proper time, it’s possible to heal just about any sort of magical malady other than the Killing Curse. I figured if everyone believed you’d betrayed Dumbledore, you’d be in more danger from our side come the final battle than from the Death Eaters, and we’d probably use more creative ways to kill you than an Unforgiveable.” She shook her head, self-deprecatingly. “Of course, at that point, I didn’t know about the Elder Wand and that Voldemort thought you were its master, or his rather nasty habit of using Nagini to attack people.”

“That put a crimp in your plan?”

“I had no anti-venin on me. It was likely only seconds until the venom would reach your heart, preventing even the best anti-venin from working. I simply had no way of knowing if the stasis charm would sufficiently stop the passive spread of the venom through your blood stream. After all, the charm was on you, not on the foreign poison in your system. It just wasn’t something I’d considered.” She paused to mop up the last of the runny yolk on her plate. “But it seems like it’s worked despite my lack of foresight.” She looked up at him with a smile.

“Indeed,” he said. He may have smiled back.

She cleared her throat. “Well, thank you, sir,” she said. “I think those were the best eggs I’ve ever tasted.”

“Miss Granger,” Snape began, a disturbing thought beginning to take shape in his mind. “When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

She seemed to be considering the question carefully. “It must have the Thursday I left Hogwarts.”

“Thursday the seventh?” Snape had been bitten by Nagini on the second.

She nodded, puzzled that he was continuing this line of questioning.

“And today is?”

“It’s Tuesday the nineteenth.”

“It took nearly two weeks to heal me?” Snape was incredulous. “I feel entirely too fit for that to be the case.”

“It’s not,” Hermione said. “I didn’t take you out of stasis until the evening of Saturday the 16th, when the spell was about to wear off. I spent the week prior to that brewing in my basement so I could have anti-venin without anyone knowing I was using it.” Her voice dropped, and she bent her head down so that her unruly hair swung forward and hid her eyes. “I, um, got the supplies, as well as the Blood-Replenishing Potion and other Healing accoutrements, from your personal stores, sir, before I left Hogwarts.“

“And you’ve been working so hard since then that you neglected to eat properly or shower.” He looked at her, pointedly.

“There wasn’t time.” She looked uncomfortable. “I used freshening charms…”

Snape shook his head, bemusedly. “I am not casting aspersions on your personal hygiene, Miss Granger. And I do want to thank you for all the effort you put into healing me and keeping my recovery secret. But why in Merlin’s name are you so eager for me to remove two weeks of your life? That’s quite a chunk of time, and if I recall correctly, you have some first hand experience with what can occur with too broad of a Memory Charm.” He was referring to Lockhart.

“When I came up with this plan,” Miss Granger was almost pouting, “I hadn’t counted on the need to brew anti-venin and didn’t think it would be nearly two weeks until you were in good enough shape to take care of yourself. You’re entirely correct that a straightforward Obliviate would not be prudent. I clearly wasn’t thinking straight, what with lack of sleep and food. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t implant the false memory that I failed to save you.”

“False memory?” Snape was flabbergasted.

“Well, yes,” Hermione said. “I’d be happy to show you if you don’t know how. It’s what I did to get my parents to believe they had no daughter and were long-term residents of Australia—“

“Miss Granger, I know how to implant false memories.”

Miss Granger blushed. “Right. Of course you do, sir. My apologies.”

“What confounds me is that you know how to implant false memories. It’s not Light magic.”

“There was a war on,” Miss Granger said, primly. “I felt saving my parents was more important than keeping my soul pristine.”

“Right,” said Snape, feeling a little out of his depth. He took a deep breath. “But, Miss Granger, there’s really no need for you to forget I’m alive. The war has ended. As thankful as I am for you providing me with the opportunity to start over, if you expose my continued existence, the worse thing that happens will be that my privacy gets invaded.” And that was a wonderful feeling. “It’s hardly enough to risk your sanity, which is what you do when you allow someone to mess with your memories.”

Temporary false memories that were removed within a year or so usually caused minimal damage. However, the price for even the smallest wrinkle in a long-lasting Memory Charm was a slow decent into insanity. The recipient would, with increasing obsession, try and fail to reconcile reality with what was in her head. He did not need the additional weight on his conscience of Miss Granger going the way of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

“I can’t believe we’re having this argument. I was certain you would insist on making sure I couldn’t remember any of this.” Miss Granger was incredulous. “A slip of my tongue, and you could be tracked down by someone thirsting for revenge.”

“Which I am entirely capable of handling.”

“Please, Professor.” She’d been reduced to begging.

He sighed. “I’m not against it in principle, Miss Granger, but I’m going to require a very good reason. As should you, considering the risks involved.”

The words burst from her. “I don’t want to have to lie.”

“Pardon?”

“If I know that you’re alive, and I have to protect the secret, I’m going to have to lie about it to everyone. All the time. It’s exhausting.”

It was. Snape could certainly vouch for that.

“At the very least, I’ll have to lie by omission. And it won’t be like the secret of your loyalties, which I suspected, but wasn’t sure of. I’ll know something that Harry and Ron would very much like to know. And considering how much time I’m likely to be spending with Ron especially,” she blushed, “that’s much more likely to be a drain on my sanity.”

“Spending too much time with Mr. Weasley can do that to you,” Snape said, reflexively, but he was considering. She remained silent.

“Fine, Miss Granger,” he said, finally. “You deserve a normal life more than I, and since you’ve granted me the chance for one, I really don’t see how I could refuse to do the same for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, her eyes beginning to tear with gratitude.

“But I refuse to do all the work myself,” he said, brusquely. “Clean this place up and then we’ll set up your spectacular failure. Maybe I’ll make Antigua by nightfall.”

---

Miss Granger had cleaned up the kitchen, but Snape felt uncomfortable leaving it to her to make sure that all evidence of his existence was erased. He carefully oversaw her efforts to make sure that it did not look like two had eaten there, and he insisted on spilling the remains of the Wiggenwald potion so as to hide the fact that it had been used.

Now, she and Snape sat in the neat, pragmatic parlor, the early afternoon sun filtering in through the beige curtains and spotting the unexciting blue- and brown-checkered rug under the coffee table. Snape broodingly filled the dark leather armchair at the end of the table, his fingers digging into the meat of the arms, and an untouched, cooling cup of tea balanced on his knee. Hermione was sitting on the canvas-covered sofa that ran parallel to the long end of table. She’d started off sitting carefully in the middle, but had since edged closer, tucking her legs underneath her, and was now talking animatedly, her half-empty cup sitting forgotten on the table. Her incorrigible hair swirled around her head like a living creature, occasionally catching and refracting pieces of light. It almost looked as if it were winking at him.

“I figure I’d remember pouring the antivenin and Blood-Replenishing Potion down your throat right before I’d released the stasis charm, like I did. However, instead of your heart starting to beat, it would beat once and then stop, as if the venom had reached it.” She paused then, her brows furrowed. “I don’t think I’d start Muggle CPR,” she said, mostly to herself. “I think I’d realize that it would be fairly useless.”

“And what would you do with my body, Miss Granger?” he asked in a bored voice.

“I’d bury you in Godric’s Hollow, by Mrs. Potter,” she answered.

Snape felt his throat constrict, oddly touched. He took a sip of his tepid tea and set his cup and saucer on the table. “So is that where they chose to bury me?” he asked, nonchalantly.

“That’s where I would have chosen to bury you,” Miss Granger answered. “Your official grave is on Hogwarts' grounds, not too far from Professor Dumbledore’s. It’s marked by a black obelisk. They thought it fitting.”

“Is it empty?”

“There’s a deceased house-elf in it, transfigured to look like you.”

“You’ve been extremely… thorough.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you expect any less?”

Snape’s lips quirked, thinking of her never-ending Potions essays. “No.” He settled back in his chair. “And how would you get me there? Mobilicorpus my body through the streets?” He snorted at the image.

She shook her head, impatiently, and her hair, catching the light, winked at him again. “I’d transfigure you, of course.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Into what?”

“Flowers.” She said this as if he should have known.

Snape looked at her blankly.

“I know that doesn’t seem entirely…fitting,” she explained, “but what else can I bring into a cemetery and have no one think twice?”

He conceded her point. “Nothing pink, I hope.”

“Never,” said Miss Granger, with exaggerated solemnity.

“And how would you mark the grave?”

“I wouldn’t. A new grave with a blank headstone next to Lily Potter’s? Someone might put it together. And while that wouldn’t be a problem if you were actually dead, if someone started investigating and realized there was no body in either of your graves, there might be trouble.” She took a deep breath and looked Snape squarely in the eye. “So now do we have enough of a story?”

Snape was quiet for a moment, leaning forward in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. He was considering, but likely not what Miss Granger thought. He understood that the chit would soon figure out that just because she remembered his death, it wouldn’t necessarily mean that it happened. She would quickly realize that she would remember having failed. It would take a little something extra to ensure that she never managed to think it through that far.

“I think that is sufficient,” he said, finally. “Are you ready? I will begin by removing the memories from the time my heart started beating again. There may be some searching involved.”

“Please try to stay away from memories…unrelated to your survival.” She looked down at the rug and blushed.

He had no wish to see her and Mr. Weasley unclothed in the Astronomy Tower. “Of course,” he said, smoothly. “You can aid me by bringing the relevant memories to the front of your mind.”

She nodded. Snape got up from his chair and joined her on the couch. She looked surprised, but to Snape’s approval, she merely turned to face him, her bottomless brown eyes determined.

Snape took out his wand. “Legilimens,” he said.

---

A flask, seemingly conjured from thin air, was thrust into Harry’s shaking hands by Hermione. The flask was empty, but there was a strange sheen around the outside of the flask’s lip that neither Harry nor Ron was in any condition to notice. Harry lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand, brushing the mouth of the flask against Snape’s face as he did so. When the flask was full to the brim and Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry’s robes slackened.

“Look…at…me….” Snape whispered.

The green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. A quick swish and flick and Hermione discreetly slipped her wand back into the sleeve of her robe. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Snape moved no more.

---

“Oh! I’m sorry, Professor!” Miss Granger had apparently had time to Accio a dishtowel and was mopping up the tea that had spilled out over the coffee table and onto the rug from her upended teacup.

“Evanesco,” Snape said, absently. He noted that his hands were shaking.

Hermione sat back on her heels, looking up at him from between the coffee table and the couch. “It’s not every day that you watch yourself die.” Her voice was decidedly matter-of-fact.

“To the contrary, Miss Granger,” Snape said, folding his hands together. “I have watched myself die many times in the past twenty years; any night that I did not have any Dreamless Sleep, in fact.” He spoke before he thought, and was distantly surprised that he had volunteered the information.

Miss Granger stood and put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. It was strangely comforting. Her long hair brushed the side of his face and he idly observed that it smelled of lemons. “I guess that wasn’t the memory you expected to see,” she said, dryly. He could hear the sympathy that she was struggling to keep from her voice and he appreciated the effort.

Snape closed his eyes and willed himself together, leaning his head back against the chair. “Clever, doctoring the flask,” Snape said gruffly, and he turned to look at her as her face lit up. He paused a moment, then smirked and added, “However, your wand work wasn’t as subtle as it could have been.”

She pulled a face at him, not taking offense, and sat back down next to him, tossing the dishtowel on the table. Snape felt a cool spot on his shoulder where her hand had been.

“Did you recognize the charm?” She was making an effort to change the subject.

“I can’t say I did,” he said, “but then identifying a swish and flick isn’t my area of expertise. I might have better luck with the potion part of it, but all I saw was that it was translucent and somewhat thick. Perhaps if you were to give me a clue as to its ingredients?”

She nodded, and then, to his surprise met his eyes squarely, a look of concentration on her face.

Snape quirked an eyebrow, but did as she invited.

---

Hermione stood in the center of an unfamiliar large stone-walled room outfitted in a criminally wrinkled school uniform, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. On her left was a pile of books in various stages of decrepitude, and in front of her was a sturdy table suitable for potions, with a large pewter cauldron and a distillery a good foot from it. To the right of the cauldron, she was furiously chopping shrivelfigs, and at a safe distance from those lay several dozen piles of ingredients chopped, diced, sliced and grated within an inch of their lives.

---

“The Quiesco Infragilis Potion,” Snape said.

Miss Granger blinked. “Yes.”

Snape smirked. “I have been called the best Potions master in Europe.” Miss Granger raised an eyebrow. “Grudgingly,” he acceded, and her lips quirked.

“Where did you come across it?” Miss Granger asked. Her eyes were bright with academic interest.

“I had a library full of dark texts, some provided by the Dark Lord himself. He was quick to have me peruse anything that might help him achieve immortality. But where did you get the body part needed to activate it? I did not notice that I was… missing anything.”

“I had Winky retrieve a hair from your quarters. Nobody had bothered to sort them out after you—after you left.”

Snape laughed and Miss Granger looked startled, which made him laugh harder. “A hair worked? A hair?!”

Miss Granger was edging away from him, and trying to be subtle about it. He shot her a long-suffering look.

“Voldemort was reluctant to test it out because he thought he might need to sacrifice an arm to the cause,” he explained.

Miss Granger grinned. “He might have had to,” she said. “If I recall he was--“

“--bald as a Bludger!” Snape threw his head back and laughed again. Hermione merely looked at him, bemusedly. Finally, Snape wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Not that it would have mattered, in any case. The charm to induce stasis was long lost. I couldn’t find it anywhere, Malfoy couldn’t find it anywhere, and Macnair nearly lost an eye after he couldn’t find it anywhere... Of course, all you had to do was ask that idiot room.”

“Handy, that.”

“Quite.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Miss Granger suddenly reddened and looked down at the table. Snape suddenly realized how close he was sitting to the girl and cleared his throat. He only just stopped himself from shifting in his seat like a schoolboy.

“Shall we try that again?” he asked. “I assure you that there is little else to which I am likely to have that reaction.”

Miss Granger pressed her lips together, but looked into his eyes.

He took that for a yes.

---

Hermione watched wistfully as Ron noisily bumbled up the stairwell to the boys’ dormitory, rubbing his eyes blearily. She squeezed Harry’s hand, and then stood up herself, stretching.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, sounding just a tad nervous, “before you go to bed, would you mind doing me a favor?”

Hermione frowned at the hesitancy in his tone. “Of course not, Harry, just ask. ”

“Could you-” Harry paused, seeming to try to get his thoughts together. “I’ve just had a terrible nightmare,” Harry said, looking very earnestly into her eyes.

Hermione nodded, solemnly. Harry sounded somewhat apologetic.

“Would you like me to continue sitting with you? I really don’t mind, Harry, honestly. ”

“Well, that probably would help, too,” Harry said, looking a little uncomfortable, “but I was hoping maybe you could just Obliviate me.” When Hermione didn’t answer right away, he added quickly, “Maybe then I’ll get a little sleep tonight.”

“Harry,” Hermione said slowly, “I’m not sure if erasing Dumbledore’s death from your mind is really going to be best for you in the long run—“

“Oh, no!” Harry interrupted, and he gave a short nervous chuckle before he stopped himself. “I just meant the nightmares. They were—they were worse than the event itself, if you can imagine. I just—“

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione smiled at him, softly, and she squeezed his hand again. “Of course. I’m sorry. That’s fine.” She pulled out her wand.

Harry blushed slightly, and then looked at her in the face again, his eyes so wide to be almost a parody of innocence. “Thanks so much, Hermione. If you could just start from around the time we fell asleep? I don’t want to chance remembering a single one.”

Hermione’s lips twisted, and she looked at him appraisingly, but she nodded. “Ready, Harry?”

Harry nodded, and a small sigh of relief escaped from his lips. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, but she swished and flicked.

“Obliviate.”

---

Snape burst out laughing. “That was terrible,” he intoned. “No wonder the boy couldn’t learn to occlude. Not a hint of artifice. Not a hint of self-preservation, for that matter.”

“He’s a terrible poker player.” Hermione was grinning widely. “We had a pack of Muggle cards when we were camping, and he was just useless. He couldn’t even cheat properly.”

“Miss Granger.” Snape sobered. “I appreciate your candor in sharing these memories with me, but I can’t help but wonder why these, and not your memories of the past few days, are the ones at the front of your mind.”

Miss Granger worried her bottom lip and suddenly seemed to find the criminally dull carpet extremely interesting.

“Miss Granger,” Snape said, “are you stalling?”

Her eyes flicked to his for a moment and then looked away.

“If you have changed your mind about the memory modification, you only have to say so,” Snape told her. “I remind you that it is you who insists on it, not I.”

She spoke slowly, still studying the carpet. “I’m sorry, Professor. I don’t mean to be doing it. I still feel it needs to be done if I’m going to get on with my life. I’m finished with secrets.”

Snape sighed. “Miss Granger, open your mind, and I will sort it out.”

She avoided his eyes for a minute, but then seemed to steel herself, and looked into his.

This time, he met nothing going in. He felt no barrier--it was like cutting through butter--only emptiness. She had managed to evade his Legilimency expertly, and, he thought, entirely unconsciously. Either she was suddenly loath to lose her memories of playing nursemaid to him, which he thought unlikely, or there was something within those memories that she desperately did not want him to see. That piqued his curiosity, and instead of pulling out of her mind and quizzing her again as to her true desires, he wandered, searching for threads of emotion. He was about to concede defeat when he stumbled across a web of panic, and he followed the strand that seemed the most alarmed at his presence.

All of a sudden, he was being bombarded. Miss Granger was being sliced open by Dolohov. Fred Weasley lay motionless on the ground, surrounded by gingers. Ron Weasley was being rude to Miss Granger at the Yule ball. Snape heard himself saying, “I see no difference.” Miss Granger was catching sight of the basilisk in her mirror. Mr. Potter’s limp body was being carried in Hagrid’s arms. Miss Granger was a half-cat. Miss Granger was facing down a troll. Ron Weasley was leaving the campground.

He pushed on through the painful memories, ones she had tried to push as far into the back of her mind as she could, and suddenly found himself back on the couch in her living room. For a moment, he thought that she’d pushed him out of her mind without him realizing it. Then he understood that he was sitting in Miss Granger’s seat, and now he was looking deep into his own eyes, and suddenly feeling quite warm. With the same jolt that she must have felt, he grasped Miss Granger’s realization that she was attracted to him.

He pushed farther, and saw himself in Miss Granger’s bed, pale and unconscious but breathing. He looked through Miss Granger’s eyes and found that he was strangely beautiful.

Mentally, he shook himself. He was here for a purpose that had nothing to do with Miss Granger’s sudden inexplicable infatuation. He pushed farther and reached the point where she lifted her wand to undo the stasis charm. Then he withdrew from her mind.

He expected to be met with a flustered, flushing Miss Granger, but she merely sat facing him with her hands folded in her lap, regarding him calmly.

“You’ve found it, then,” she said.

He wasn’t sure if she was referring to the point in her memories that he’d been searching for or to her attraction. “I did,” he stated, neutrally. “Are you ready?”

“In a moment,” she said. She tilted her head to the side and studied him closely. He felt himself fidgeting under her scrutiny and he forced himself to still.

All of a sudden, she leaned forward, craned her neck, and touched her lips to his. Snape froze momentarily, and then, in spite of himself, he was kissing her back. It was an innocent kiss, closed mouthed, but there was heat behind it, and he felt himself enjoying it a little too much. Reluctantly, he pulled back.

“That was just goodbye, you know.” She gave him a sad little half-smile.

“Of course,” he said. His voice was smooth and even, but he felt his heart fluttering against his chest like a bird trying to escape. “Memorio abrogo.”

---

Author's note:
My apologies to the incomparable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (and, I guess if I happen to be in the business in doling out apologies, to J. K. Rowling as well).