Author's Note at bottom.
Part One
The library in 12 Grimmauld Place held a few more volumes on the dark arts than Hermione thought to be particularly necessary. She was not one to complain, though, and decided to make the best of what was at her disposal.
She couldn't sleep. She hadn't been able to sleep since she had come to spend the summer with Harry and Ron in the Order headquarters.
Hermione had been suffering from mild insomnia since the end of their seventh year just two weeks earlier. Voldemort's latest attempt on Harry's life had nearly cost them the war. They had been lucky, extraordinarily lucky, when at the last minute their fortunes changed. Harry and everyone else who had been caught in the nightmarish situation had managed to escape unscathed.
Hermione was not sure they would be so lucky the next time.
She supposed it was the fear of losing Harry that kept her awake at night. She did not want to stand by and watch him die. She did not want to stand by and watch any of those who she fought alongside die. But she was beginning to think she may not have any choice in the matter.
It wasn't exactly a reassuring thought and it did nothing to help her sleep.
Hermione had tried everything on this night to fall asleep. She had counted two hundred sheep, daydreamed about beaches in Bermuda, and had even shuffled down to the kitchen to get a warm cup of milk. Nothing worked, and she was fairly certain that nothing was going to be successful in aiding her to fall asleep.
Taking her milk with her, Hermione crossed the dark hallways of Order headquarters and made her way to the Black family library. Harry had shown her the library the day she and Ron arrived, knowing that it would be something she'd appreciated.
As Hermione stepped into the room, she paused to mutter a quiet "Lumos," before walking over to the small table set up in the center of the room. She set her cup on the table and fell into the seat beside it.
She had been coming here almost every night for the last two weeks, and had, in this time, established a pattern of behavior. Habit dictated that she would sit before the table for a few moments with her milk staring at the walls of books around her. Eventually, she would discriminate one of the volumes from the rows and rows, lift her wand, and accio the book into her hand. Habit then dictated that she would sit at the table, nurse her milk, and read until she was finally exhausted enough that she could fall asleep in one of the library's chairs or until she simply passed out where she was. She had, in the past two weeks, awoken more than once slumped over the book on the table, a tiny puddle of drool marring its pages.
The volume she'd selected this evening was thinner than most, and seemed to be a fictional piece. She sat with the book at the table, reading slowly and sipping her milk. It was rather relaxing, sitting there in the quiet and lowly lit room. The cushioning in her chair was very soft and she soon found herself sliding lower in it until she was curled up in a ball.
She had been reading in the chair for about an hour when it started to rain. The soft pattering of the raindrops against the window and the occasional grumble of distant thunder only increased Hermione's sense of relaxation.
Her eyes had just slipped close when she heard a clattering noise in the hallway. She sat up immediately, grabbing her wand up from the table. She heard another clatter a few seconds later, followed by a low groan. She stood from her seat and turned to face the door. She could hear dragging footsteps approaching the door to the library. She watched, wand out and poised, as the door handle to the library turned and the door open.
A tall man, dressed in black, stumbled into the room. Hermione could not make out his face with the soft lighting, but she could certainly see that he appeared to be in pain, doubled over and barely able to walk.
"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, disappointed at the squeakiness of her voice.
The stranger lifted his head and glared at her. Hermione recognized that glare, and was relieved to see that this man was no stranger. He was, in fact, a sort of friend.
"What are you doing out of bed, Miss Granger?" he asked, as he shuffled over to the couch that sat a few feet from the door. Hermione watched as he practically collapsed onto it before she too moved towards it.
"Does it matter, Professor? Will you be taking points from Gryffindor?" she asked as she came to stand beside the couch where he now lay.
"Yes," he replied as he glowered up at her. "Ten."
She frowned at him as she studied his condition. He did not look too terrible. There were a few scratches across his face, a large bruise was forming near his temple, and he looked to mostly be exhausted and sore. Hermione was relieved to see that he did not look to be in any mortal danger.
"You look like hell, Professor," she muttered as she knelt down beside the couch.
"How very observant of you, Miss Granger," he said, eyeing her suspiciously as she settled herself beside him. "Why are you so close to me?"
"Well, I have to get a good look at you if I'm to heal you," Hermione snapped back.
"I don't need healing."
"Yes," said Hermione, "You do. That's a nasty bruise, Professor. And it's certainly one that will attract attention from your colleagues. How would you explain it?"
"I suppose I will just have to tell them the truth. Had a row with my wife, of course. And as I was wise enough to marry one who hits back…" he trailed off, smirking up at her, but wincing when she punched his side lightly. "Really, Miss Granger, violence is unnecessary."
Hermione raised an eyebrow before reaching for her wand. She held it over the bruise and softly muttered a healing charm. It worked quickly. "Somebody has to defend your wife when she is unable to do it herself, Professor."
"Indeed," Snape replied, giving her a sneer that could nearly pass for a smile as he struggled to sit up. After a few minutes of wincing and soft groans, he finally pulled himself up into the position he had desired to reach. "Miss Granger…"
"Do you want something for the pain?" Hermione asked, cutting him off as she rose to her feet.
Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you have?"
Hermione grinned down at him. "An assortment of poisons that will rid you of your pain once and for all, Professor."
She was surprised to hear Snape laugh. "I would say it's expected save that you are a Gryffindor. And, I think it is fairly safe to say that Hermione Granger would never even consider murdering a teacher."
"Oh, I don't know about that, Professor," Hermione replied. "You were quite nasty to me. And I was fairly sensitive about my teeth. There was of course that time you called me an, what was it? An insufferable know-it-all?"
He frowned. "Oh don't give me that, Miss Granger. You wouldn't poison me."
She just smiled, pleased that he sounded slightly nervous, and accioed the potion. "How did you end up here, Professor?" she said a few moments later as she watched the vial of pain-relief potion floating through the air towards her hand. She reached out and caught it, before handing it down to him.
"A portkey, Miss Granger," he said as he uncorked the vial and downed the potion in one long gulp.
"A portkey?" Hermione echoed.
"Yes, Miss Granger," Snape replied. "Obviously, I was in no fit condition to apparate, so I used the portkey. I take it with me to every meeting and used it to leave when the situation moved beyond my control."
"When you became injured?" Hermione supplied.
"Yes," Snape responded, averting his gaze from hers, "and when it became evident that if I didn't leave immediately, I would not be leaving at all."
"Oh," Hermione said, biting on her bottom lip. "Why did they want to kill you?"
Snape sighed. "I've been found out, I'm afraid, Miss Granger. I am officially of no use to the Order."
"Oh, don't say that, Professor," Hermione said quickly, stepping towards him. Hesitantly, she reached out and placed a hand onto his shoulder, patting him gently in a way she hoped was comforting. "Sirius thought that way and look where it got him."
Snape snorted in reply. "Your bedside manner is awe-inspiring, Miss Granger." He sighed and struggled to sit up straighter. "I should be getting back to Hogwarts," he said after a few silent minutes.
Hermione frowned. "I don't think you should go in your condition, Professor."
He waved a hand at her concern. "Don't be silly, Granger. I am fine now. My concentration is perfect without the pain. I'll be able to apparate without difficulty."
"Professor," Hermione began, allowing her voice to adopt the steely and motherly tone she had heard Molly Weasley use when making a final decision. "It's very late and the path to the castle from Hogsmeade will be very dark. They could be waiting for you there, and I refuse to send you to your death. No, you'll spend the night here and tomorrow Harry, Ron, or I will accompany you back to Hogwarts."
"Miss Granger," Snape sighed, his exasperation showing, "I think your worry is unnecessary."
"Better safe than sorry," she replied as she lifted her wand and silently transfigured the couch he was seated upon into a comfortable twin-sized bed. "Now, sleep well, Professor. You'll be able to go home in the morning."
Snape frowned, but settled down into the bed under Hermione's watchful gaze. When she was satisfied that he would not sneak off, Hermione turned from his side and strode quickly to the door. "Good night, Professor," she said as she stood in the doorway.
"Good night," she heard him say softly, "And thank you, Miss Granger."
"You're welcome," Hermione replied before quickly muttering, "nox," and hurrying back through the house to the stairwell.
Hermione climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to get back to her rooms in order to contact Albus Dumbledore. Hermione was quite certain Dumbledore would be more than interested in how his Potions Master had fared his evening out with the Death Eaters.
She was surprised, though, to find Dumbledore's head already floating in her fireplace when she slipped into her room a few seconds later. "Headmaster!" she exclaimed.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," Dumbledore responded, giving her a small grin. "Or good morning, I suppose."
"Er, yes," Hermione said and smiled. "Good morning."
"I believe you have something to tell me?" Dumbledore prompted.
"Oh, yes. Yes, Professor Snape arrived here about an hour ago. He was injured, but I managed to heal most of it and gave him some of the pain relief potion we have stored here," Hermione said. "Oh, and I've asked him to spend the night here. I did not think it would be safe for him to go back to Hogwarts just yet."
"I see," Dumbledore replied, nodding. "So, Severus's true loyalties have been revealed?"
"Er, yes. He said they had," Hermione responded.
Dumbledore merely nodded in response and was silent for a few moments. "I will wish a good morning then, Miss Granger, and suggest that you get some rest. You've had quite an eventful evening."
"Yes," Hermione nodded, "thank you, Headmaster."
With a small smile, Dumbledore's head vanished from the hearth. Hermione turned towards her bed and shuffled towards it. She fell into bed, and barely noticed that she was able to fall asleep without any difficulty.
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Author's Note: I am breaking my own canon law and posting a work in progress. It's not something I really want to do, but I am forcing myself to do it. This story was supposed to be a one shot. It was supposed to stop after Snape thanked Hermione, but then it kind of snowballed into two chapters. And then into three. And after doing a bit of planning and plotting, it looks like it is going to be about ten. I like this story too much to not finish it. So, I am hoping that having chapters already posted will motivate me to continue working on it.
So, you say, I care because? Well, you care because I don't know how frequently I will be updating it. I suppose I am making my excuses. Thus, I apologize in advance if updates aren't regular, my reason is that the story is not yet complete. I hope you'll forgive me.
Thank you, as always, for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it.