HG/SS Unforgivable

In their first year, they hadn't known her. In second and third and all those other years at Hogwarts, no one had had time in the pre-school frenzy to plan almost three weeks ahead and buy birthday presents. And they were boys... Even when she had told them she was buying Crookshanks with 'birthday money', neither of them had asked when it was. Last year, on the trail of the Horcruxes, even her parents hadn't been able to send her anything. That was why it was such a surprise when six owls turned up at headquarters on Hermione's nineteenth birthday.

As she freed the owls from their delivery and undid its distinctly Muggle wrappings, she wondered who might have sent it. Her parents' present had arrived earlier. Any of the witches or wizards she knew would simply have Apparated, bringing the present with them, but the 'who' was temporarily forgotten when she saw the 'what'.

Unlike Harry, she had never been fortunate enough to see Dumbledore's. This one was made of thick glass rather than stone, but Hermione had no doubt, given the shape and size and the runes that were etched around its rim that this was a Pensieve.

Hermione couldn't say why she didn't mention the gift to anyone else. At heart, she was still the same cautious girl who had told McGonagall about Harry's Firebolt. Nevertheless, short of smashing it, there was nothing anyone could do to check it for jinxes or hexes that she hadn't already done herself when she realised that there was no note, just an unsigned birthday card.

She couldn't help thinking that whoever her anonymous benefactor might be, they had remembered when her best friends had, once again, forgotten and that made the gift something too precious and too intimate to share.

She was at The Burrow when the first vial arrived, all silvery iridescence and temptation. She almost felt guilty about how quickly she made her excuses and returned to headquarters.

The scene awaiting her was altogether familiar. She could have recounted every word without the Pensieve's help, remembered every nuance of the spellbinding performance.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death..."

Instinct and logic warred within her.

Logic proclaimed that the memory could have come from anyone in that class. It could be some trip down Memory Lane that Harry and Ron had devised.

Instinct told her it was from Snape, even though she had no idea what the typically cryptic fragment might mean.

Logic stepped in again at this point and told her, if she truly believed it was from Snape, then she should tell someone.

Then, that glimmer of faith that she'd believed to be irreparably broken on the night of Dumbledore's death took over and made her wait.

Two days later another vial arrived.

He was younger, younger than she had ever known him, but even then he had had the eyes of someone who had seen too much.

"I can't go back. It's too dangerous. They won't be fooled forever," Snape protested.

"Then you must do whatever it takes for them to remain fooled. Whatever, Severus." The old man smiled, his eyes gleaming with the mirth of some private jest. "It is your penance and in the scheme of things, what is one meddlesome old fool?"

"No! It's—"

"Not yet necessary, but when the day comes..."

When the third vial came, Hermione had a note prepared for the owl to take back to its master, sliding into the 'new' memory as soon as the bird had gone.

Snape looked again at the parchment he held and then at the Katharine Hepburn-esque witch, who was watching him intently, before turning back to Dumbledore. "This is murder."

It was the witch who answered him. "This is war, Severus. The cancer is terminal. My affairs are in order and my death will have purpose. You will tell Voldemort where he may find me."

Snape turned hate-filled eyes on Dumbledore.

Severus scanned the note Prometheus had brought back, considering his reply. He could tell her that even when the wizarding world had apparently been at peace, Dumbledore had insisted he keep up his pretence of partiality, so that he would more convincingly be able to return to the role of spy. He could tell her that he saw his younger self in her desperate desire to prove herself... but it smacked too much of grovelling.

Beneath the words, "Why me?" he added his answer. "Because when others gave in to prejudice, you were the one who was prepared to listen."

The next day brought two vials, one wrapped in a familiar piece of parchment, its contents a memory from the Shrieking Shack.

The second vial took her to a semblance of Snape's office. The room was in darkness except for one lamp. The former headmaster lay prone. Snape, dressed in his nightshirt, bent over him. The Potions master lifted Dumbledore's head, forcing him to drink from a goblet of steaming liquid.

"Don't fight me, Old Man," Snape muttered.

Dumbledore coughed weakly and raised his blackened hand. "So you finally get to prove that little speech you make every year, Severus."

Hermione tumbled free of the memory. As soon as her feet touched the floor she found herself backing away from the bowl, keeping going until her legs bumped against something. 'I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death...' Hermione dropped backward onto her bed. Snape hadn't wanted to kill Dumbledore. If he had, he could simply have let it happen. For over a year, Snape had been hunted by both the Order and the Ministry's best Aurors. All that time, he'd had the evidence he needed to clear his name. Instead, he had told her.

Hermione bit her tongue when Harry went off on one of his rants about how Snape was the author of all their current misfortunes. Harry and Ron had long since discovered that the search for the Horcruxes was more to do with piles of old documents than heroic duels or flying off on their brooms. They'd found 'other duties' more suited to their temperaments, leaving it to her to do the boring drudge work... and as the chasm between her and them steadily widened, she found herself re-examining all her preconceptions about Snape and waiting eagerly for his next communication.

Hermione welcomed the now-familiar barn owl in. Tempting him with treats, she induced him to stay until she had viewed his latest delivery.

Narcissa Malfoy's concern for her son was obvious, as was her distress, though Hermione found her willingness to trade on some former intimacy distasteful. Her sister, Bellatrix, had all the psychotic charm of Slytherin's snake and she appeared to be no more agreeable to those on her own side than to her enemies. Nevertheless, it was the way Snape's options were whittled down to an inexorable choice between death and murder that tied Hermione's stomach into knots.

Hermione read her words over again, almost as if she hoped she could use some ink smudge or misspelling as an excuse not to send it.

"I think we should meet. Tomorrow at midnight, Grimmauld Place. It's empty now."

Would he believe her or would he think she was laying a trap? Would he come? And what would she do if he refused?

She picked up her quill to add the words, "Please come." Instead, she set it back down. He would be there. There was a reason he had sent her these memories. He needed her. He would come.

It was late the following evening when the owl returned, looking tired to the bone.

A simple note. "As you wish."

The owl waited as she tipped forward into the Pensieve.

"If Draco cannot be dissuaded, you must help him," Dumbledore insisted.

"Don't be ridiculous. You know I only made that promise to buy some time."

"And you did. I would not have had this past year without you. We both know that if you die the curse that took my hand will take the rest of me within days."

"There are other potion makers."

"But only one master, Severus."

Hermione made a point of arriving early at the old house. She let herself in, lighting lamps as she made her way through to the kitchen, where she kindled a fire and put a kettle on to boil.

Before she had even unpacked her bag, the fire flared green and a man stepped from the flames. His hair was dirty blond and neatly trimmed, his eyes hazel, and if Hermione guessed correctly he appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but his clothing was uniformly monochromatic and when he turned to face her, his overcoat billowed in a familiar dramatic way.

"Miss Granger," the newcomer bowed. "My apologies for the change in appearance but as I was obliged to use a public Floo..." He quirked an eyebrow. "Feel free to ask any question you might think necessary to establish my true identity."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Even in someone else's body, civility aside, it would be difficult to mistake you for anyone else, Professor."

Snape pulled two bottles from the apparently copious pockets on each side of his coat and strode over to the cupboard where the glasses had been kept, withdrawing two wine glasses. "Red or white?" he asked.

Hermione gaped unashamedly until her natural reserve took over. "I wasn't aware that we were drinking buddies?"

Snape checked the glasses for dust but was apparently satisfied. "We're not. However, we have a lot to discuss and it would be a long night without any refreshment."

Hermione tipped out the contents of her backpack: ground coffee, teabags, a carton of milk and biscuits. "How about we start with these? Call me overcautious but you have an agenda here and I'm going to want all my wits about me."

"You always were sharper than the dimwits you associated with, Miss Granger."

Surprisingly, when the kettle boiled, his hand on her shoulder pressed her gently into her seat. He made coffee with the same efficiency of movement that he might have brewed Amortentia. Somewhere in the process, she realised that his hands became paler and their skin less taut, but their movements were no less elegant.

She knew why he'd stalled, but she wondered if he realised it was even more unsettling to sit across the table from her former professor, dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt, than it had been to know that it was him underneath a stranger's guise.

Finally, when she'd added milk to her coffee, stirred it and taken a delicate bite from her first oatmeal biscuit, she had to ask. "Why are we here, Professor?"

Snape gave a slight frown. "I forfeited that honorific, Miss Granger, and I believe it was you who issued the invitation."

"Because you obviously want something," Hermione argued, "and that's the sort of title you keep for life, Professor."

She could have sworn she saw a glint of amusement in those onyx-black eyes. "I do have a request," Snape admitted, "but I doubt you'll accede unless I satisfy your curiosity first."

They both knew there was only one issue that merited discussion but Hermione couldn't bring herself to begin with the events surrounding Dumbledore's death.

"You've lost weight," she prevaricated, wishing almost as soon as the words escaped that she could take them back.

"That tends to happen when you spend your time on the move," Snape replied, his tone holding a teasing trace of his habitual sarcasm as he continued. "Now, can we move on before we sink to the level of discussing whether these jeans make my arse look big?"

'He asked for it,' Hermione decided. "What's the request?"

Severus didn't bother to hide his amusement as his eyes roved the young woman's face. "I would like you to become my Secret-Keeper."

"What!" she exclaimed, predictably in Severus's opinion, and in such a way that, if she'd had a mouthful of coffee at the time, it would probably have been sprayed all over him. "Why the hell would you trust some 'insufferable know-it-all' to do that?" She glared at him with all the pent-up antagonism that his years of verbal abuse had caused. "And more to the point, why the hell would you ever think that I would?"

He laughed. Snape, the greasy git of the dungeons, whose hair didn't actually look all that greasy, laughed at her.

"I don't see what's so amusing," she replied, keeping her words carefully modulated this time.

"I did say that you were unlikely to comply without further persuasion," the git pointed out, looking obnoxiously smug.

"Believe me, there is no persuasion—"

"You will do it eventually because I will convince you that it is the right thing to do. Your Gryffindor sensibilities will allow you no other course... but first, Miss Granger, I must urge you to consider your classmates."

"Despite what you seemed to think, there was nothing wrong with my classmates," Hermione protested. "Even Neville would have been okay if you hadn't bullied him all the time."

"I believe I asked you to consider your classmates, not your housemates," Severus drawled, having to check himself so that he didn't use the tone he'd once reserved for the slower learners.

"So we had to put up with... your... precious... Slytherins." He watched as her eyes widened and her lips formed a perfect 'O'.

"Precisely, Miss Granger, as did I. Dumbledore wanted a spy more than he wanted a teacher."

"Dumbledore wasn't like that," Hermione argued, but even she knew her heart wasn't in it. She had seen the headmaster ask far worse of the man before her.

"Dumbledore was many things that were not apparent to his students, even The Wonder Trio," Snape replied. As if to prove his earlier point, his voice was gentle, even concerned. "He was the finest man I have ever known, but he was never the amiable old eccentric he would have had the world believe. His later years were devoted to a single goal and to that end he manipulated everyone around him."

"Why kill him, then?" the girl asked, tears almost spilling from her eyes. "Why?"

"Because dying would have been the coward's way out." Severus held her gaze, hoping she'd recognise the truth. "Because there were too many. Because Narcissa was once my friend... but mostly because it was what he wanted."

"Couldn't you—"

"When I arrived Albus was disarmed," Severus snapped. "He was helpless. He couldn't even stand and he was surrounded by Death Eaters. It had to be me. I couldn't have Greyback or Carrow bragging that they were the one who bested Albus Dumbledore. Don't you see?"

Hermione never wanted to see an expression like that again. She had seen Harry's grief after the headmaster's death. She had watched it burn bright within him until eventually it faded, tempering him into a man who might one day have the ability to bring down a tyrant. Compared to the pain she saw in Severus Snape's eyes, it had been a childish thing.

"You loved him," she whispered, commenting rather than asking.

"Of course I loved him." Snape gently shook his head. "And at times I even hated him. He was my saviour and my damnation all in one."

Severus caught the tentative movement of her hand towards his own. He could have pulled his hand away before she touched him. He knew that a year earlier he wouldn't have hesitated.

After fifteen months of unremitting lies and feigned Death Eater camaraderie, he would take genuine companionship wherever it came, even from a woman barely out of childhood. His acceptance, however, wasn't an unconditional one, even if he let half a minute pass before he voiced any protest.

"Miss Granger, either you're going to have to stop calling me Professor or you're going to have to move your hand."

Hermione instinctively flinched at his words, drawing her hand back. Then, as she looked up, she caught his look of resignation rather than condemnation. Deliberately, she placed her fingers back over his.

"Shouldn't you be calling me Hermione, if that's the way things are going to be?" she asked, tilting her head on one side as she tried to make sense of the enigma in front of her.

"As your former teacher, it would be improper for me to make assumptions of familiarity."

"It's not an assumption..." She gathered her courage. "Severus. This is me asking you. Call me Hermione."

Severus waited a little longer before he moved. He might as well go all the way now he'd come this far. From the inside pocket of the coat that he'd draped over his chair back, he drew a small case containing several vials.

Setting it open on the table in front of her, he forced a half-smile. "Along with those already in your possession, these should fill in the blanks. I'm afraid I have a second favour to ask. If you should receive confirmation of my death, then I would ask that you give all of the memories to Minerva."

"Do you want her to pass them on to the Ministry?" Hermione asked, hating the morbid turn their conversation had taken.

Snape shrugged. "She'll do what's right for the Order under the prevailing circumstances. I just wouldn't want her to think our... acquaintance was based upon a lie."

"Why wait?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't she make a better Secret-Keeper?"

"She's too obvious... and she's too idealistic to keep sending Order members after me if she knew the truth. That alone would make Voldemort suspicious."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose that just leaves me, then."

Snape smiled back. "I suppose it does."

Severus felt a previously unnoticed tension leave his shoulders as the girl gave her tacit consent. "I'll let you know when I have found a suitable place and made the necessary preparations for the spell," he informed her.

She shook her head and smiled back at him. "You don't get to dismiss me any more... Severus."

She took him by surprise. "I simply assumed that you would have limited time before you were missed." He shrugged. "And that you would have little desire to stay once your curiosity was satisfied."

"I sleep alone and my curiosity is far from satisfied."

Hermione stood, picking up the discarded wine glasses in one hand, and when she would have picked up the wine in her other hand she found he had got there first. She took the lamp from the dresser, turning back only when she reached the kitchen doorway. "For instance, those clothes... arriving by Floo rather than Apparating... bubble-wrap. You've been living as a Muggle, haven't you?"

She turned her back before he could answer and silently led the way along the hall and up the stairs.

Snape followed her to the drawing room. "Very astute," he acknowledged. "Magic leaves traces."

"And if the Ministry know magic's being used where they don't have a record of there being a registered wizard..." Hermione continued, putting her burdens down on a small table set in the right angle between a pair of armchairs.

"Then, there are those amongst their ranks who would be able to identify the magic as mine. Correct. I Apparate only when summoned by the Dark Lord. Other than that, no, I don't use my personal magic."

Hermione took the white wine from Snape and Evanescoed the cork, contemplating the sort of determination it would take to give up magic.

Severus let her fill their glasses and take a seat before he took the other armchair. "Any more guesses?" he asked as he picked up his drink.

She shrugged. "Your owl struggled to get your reply to me in time. Judging from your stunning lack of tan, I'd say Scotland rather than France. Your hair indicates that you aren't spending eight hours a day surrounded by potion fumes... Other than that..."

Severus gave her a wryly appreciative smile in return. "And still in a few minutes you have more than an entire department of Aurors have managed in a year."

Hermione had never thought to hear anything other than disdain in Snape's voice. To find him giving her his unequivocal approval brought an unexpected warmth to her whole body. She hastily took a gulp of her wine before she countered. "I doubt you allow the Aurors to see you this close up, or send them owls."

"I'm disappointed... Hermione." He hesitated before using the name for the first time. "A spy is no good if he doesn't pass on his information."

"Do they know who the information comes from?"

"If they did, I doubt they would trust it," Snape smirked.

"So are you going to fill in the blanks, then?" she asked, looking as if she amazed herself with her temerity. "Why stay on the move for so long and then suddenly decide to settle down?"

"A combination of factors," Severus informed her. "I've always kept the bulk of my finances scattered over a selection of Muggle banks where the Ministry wouldn't be able to interfere. I had enough to tide me over, but it took some time to liquidate my investments and in the period immediately following Dumbledore's death, I had other responsibilities."

"Malfoy?"

Severus nodded but didn't elaborate.

Hermione remembered the headlines. Lucius Malfoy had bought his freedom by agreeing to testify against his fellow Death Eaters. Then, the bodies of his wife and son had been found, so badly mutilated that it had taken days to work out which parts belonged to whom. The Ministry hadn't told Malfoy Senior until after his testimony.

"You're still here," she pointed out. "That means you did all you could."

"I was in Russia, on the Dark Lord's bidding. I left Draco in his aunt's care."

"She didn't protect him?" Hermione asked.

"She was first to prove her loyalty," Snape sneered.

"She did that to her own family?" the girl exclaimed.

Severus couldn't hold in the macabre laugh. "I hear she was rather enthusiastic, but then her only alternative was to join them."

"How do you live like that?" she demanded. "How can you go on, day after day, knowing that you live or die by the whim of some madman? How can you cut yourself off from all your friends and do that without losing your mind... or your soul or whatever passes for humanity?"

Severus took a measured sip from his glass and met her gaze squarely. "You don't."

Hermione stared into those eyes for the longest time, looking for the slightest indication that he might not completely believe the words he had just said.

"Those who fight monsters should take care that they never become one. For when you stand and look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you," Snape quoted. "I have been looking into this particular abyss for half my life. I have watched people die and done nothing to intercede. I have murdered my best friend and used magic so dark that it is the definition of unforgivable. I am a monster."

"I don't believe that," she argued. "You had no choice."

"Bellatrix had no choice when it came to Narcissa and Draco. It does not change what she is. Following orders is no excuse, no matter who the orders come from. I only intended to convince you of my loyalty, not my innocence. The vial downstairs which shows Albus's death would rightly send me to Azkaban for the rest of my life."

She sighed. "Dumbledore wouldn't want that. If I were on your jury I would pardon you."

"What good would that do," Snape asked, "when I will never forgive myself?"

Continued in 'Moments of Transition'