Chapter One

My days amongst the dead are past

The decision to return to Hogwarts was one of the easiest decisions Hannah Potter had made in eighteen years of life. Time, she decided, was now on her side and not plotting against her. Time to sort her head out after the horrific events of the previous year. Time to complete her education and to feel that she deserved a place within her chosen career. Time to mourn the loss of the fallen. Time, perhaps to discover what life could be, if only she had the chance to be just Hannah. Just Hannah in a world without madmen who held too much stock in fairy stories and the validity of charlatans. After her hectic life, there was nothing she wanted more than time, so that she could experience a normal life without mad-men intent on conjuring grand schemes to murder her at least once a year.

While there was no denying that the Auror department would have taken her in for training immediately, even if it was just for the good publicity alone, Hannah had decided to give herself a year to recover from the mental and physical stresses of the war. The Ministry had a lot to make up for, and Hannah didn't know if she was ready to forgive and forget just yet. Besides, roughing it in the woods for a few months and getting lucky with 'expelliarmus' against the world's most powerful of mad-men who, luckily, had only the fragment of a soul already evicted from the realm of the living, coupled with a wand working in favour of his opponent – would not cut it against your average dark wizard.

Longing for some semblance of ordinary, or at least as ordinary as one can be as a witch – Hannah had returned to Hogwarts to experience a quiet year, ready to take on the 'Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.' After all, she knew school and exams could hardly be as exhausting as her experiences the previous year. Hermione could probably have passed her N.E.W.T.s alongside her O.W.L.s, but Hermione and Ron had also decided to return, perhaps echoing the general sentiments of Hannah herself. Hannah's miraculous return from Kings Cross Station could now fulfil another purpose; she was going to live.

Almost a whole month had passed since their return, and Hannah found herself contemplating her previously least favourite teacher. The insufferable and infuriating man had become her most respected and trusted teacher of all since revealing his memories in May. Despite knowing Snape was dead, upon Voldemort's demise, rushing to the shrieking shack had immediately breached the forefront of her mind. When she arrived with Ron and Hermione close at her heels, a truly miraculous scene was before her. Severus Snape was sat leaning against the wall, clearly exhausted and in severe pain but still clinging just about clinging to life. Giant snake anti-venom, essence of dittany and blood replenishing potions were, apparently, essential cloak pocket snacks for potion making Death Eaters on the go. Despite his fervent protestations, they'd helped him get back to the castle where he was immediately assisted by an overworked Madam Pomfrey who never took no for an answer and practically forced the man into bed at the makeshift hospital ward. Remarkably, with copious amounts of his infamous Snapey snark and all of two days of exceptionally reluctant bed rest, Snape was back to his usual cheery self for the weekend. He'd even been able to assist the other teachers in repairing the extensive damage inflicted upon Britain's oldest magical architectural masterpiece that was Hogwarts castle.

Letting go of her old hatred had been hugely liberating, and Hannah admitted to herself that a huge debt of gratitude was owed to the man for his part in the war. His devotion to protecting his most hated student in the name of love lost had left her with a sense of awe and respect for a man who had sacrificed the best part of twenty years in repayment for transgressions now two decades past.

Rather embarrassingly she had recently found herself somewhat physically attracted to the man. It was a feeling that had only intensified over the past few weeks of lessons as she realised he seemed to have little interest in torturing her since they'd returned after the holidays. True, he had not suddenly turned into a cheery, happy-go-lucky kind of man, but his lessons were no longer full of the torment, snide remarks and outright cruelty they used to be. She couldn't say that she particularly liked him, but she had to admit her attitude towards him had completely changed, and she couldn't help but watch him with interest. His demeanour had changed too, and she found herself musing on what had inspired him to stop bullying every student in sight with glee. Perhaps, deep down he was never really unkind to begin with and had no choice but to prioritise his image. After all, he needed to lower the number of outright lies he would tell the dark lord. Perhaps now that the daily stresses of either knowing the dark lord would return or, in later years, actually having to face him every other day had begun to fade, he was free to act like a normal human being for the first time in nearly twenty years. She wondered if he just couldn't be bothered anymore, and had grown tired of tormenting wizarding youth. Or perhaps, she thought, she should just mind her own bloody business and be grateful for his newfound lack of interest in tormenting her.

One breakfast morning towards the end of September, Hannah once again found herself shamelessly staring at the formidable Professor, assessing his features. Somehow he looked more youthful now, and though perhaps not traditionally handsome, he certainly had a face that was interesting to behold now that it was no longer permanently creased in a scowl or sneer. When he inevitably felt her gaze and stared back in obvious agitation with a creased brow and a slight frown, her cheeks blushed scarlet, and she quickly turned away.

"Are you listening? The Herbology essay on Aconite? Did you bother to finish it?" Hermione asked exasperatedly, interrupting Hannah's quiet contemplation.

"Oh…no. I dunno why she set an essay on Aconite. No potion any of us could ever brew uses that. It's not even going to be on our exam, is it? I can't imagine anyone other than Neville growing that useless stuff." Her distracted eyes were still flickering to and from the head table, and she was only giving Hermione about half of her attention.

"Well, that doesn't mean you can just forget about it…right," Hermione said firmly, now clearly irritated with Hannah's distracted state. "I've had enough of this! What's so interesting about Professor Snape? Every time I look at you-you're staring at him. In lessons, at meal times and even when we pass him in the corridors, he's almost certainly already noticed, and it's kind of..."

"Unnatural, creepy and frankly gross. Don't you think it's a bit… weird? Seriously, anyone would think you fancied him or something!" Ron interrupted, but promptly shut up at the look Hermione gave him and resumed eating the huge plate of sausages he apparently called breakfast. A girl in the third-year sat nearby gave Hannah a look of shocked disgust, before moving further down the table, clearly not even wanting to think about the dreaded Professor in such a way.

Momentarily unable to do anything except blush in embarrassment, Hannah tried to explain her fascination to herself, but failed. In all honesty, she just didn't know why she had developed such an interest in the one Professor that hated her. She accepted that he was an interesting, loyal and intelligent man she owed her life to, but she was not ready to admit that she had formed a crush on him even to herself, never mind to her friends and especially not right in the middle of the great hall. Still, she had to admit that her fellow students held no interest for her whatsoever, at least not romantically. While she knew that many of them had been through hell over the past year or so, none of them could possibly understand the things she had experienced in her hectic upheaval of a life. Their relative ignorance and inexperience seemed to be putting her off, and she couldn't help but see them as children. Perhaps that was the appeal the older man held for her. He had definitely experienced too much pain in his life and was probably one of the only people in the room she could ever hope to truly know her. If he was so inclined, she thought reluctantly. Still blushing, but knowing Hermione was expecting some kind of satisfactory answer, she eventually reluctantly replied.

"I just respect him that's all. He seems…different lately, doesn't he? Listen, I've been thinking, and I think I should thank him for everything he's done for us. Well, for me specifically. I can't help but feel a little guilty about how little thanks he's gotten for the insanely dangerous work he did. I mean did you see that ridiculous book that foul dung beetle wrote about him? I just think…I dunno, I feel bad that everyone hates him, especially after everything that's happened."

"Scoundrel or Saint just about sums him up to me. I reckon you must be mad to want to speak to him after the reign of terror he imposed on us! He probably just knows stern old McGonagall won't let him get away with things that Dumbledore would have." Ron scoffed as Hermione scrutinised Hannah's face for a long moment.

"I really don't think that's a good idea. He always comes across as a pretty private man and, look I know you were well-meaning, but you told everyone his deepest darkest secrets. Yes, it kept him from Azkaban, and yes it was well-meaning, but he probably felt completely betrayed, perhaps even humiliated. Don't you think that he's more…actions speak louder than words? Whatever the reason, he's been content to stop tormenting everyone lately, and I think…maybe you should just let sleeping dragons lie."

"Yeah, please don't piss him off. Nobody will forgive you if he returns to his good-old self will they?" Ron said pleadingly.

She thought Hermione was probably correct, and that it would be unwise to yield to temptation and start bombarding Snape with gratitude. Yet, she knew that she was going to have to do it for her own sanity's sake if nothing else, and she hoped it would resolve her confusing obsession with the man. Grateful that the almost lie had diverted Hermione's attention from her true motives, she realised that everything she confessed to herself was in fact true. Despite her admittedly pitiful efforts, Hannah Potter had a pathetic school-girl crush on Severus Snape. A man who had previously spared no expense at making sure she knew he hated every fibre of her being. A man who one year ago she'd have gladly given her up her wand arm to see dead.

Herbology turned out to be an easy albeit unusual affair. Professor Sprout had them tend the Wolfsbane flowers. Poisonous in their raw state but being exceedingly valuable and used in complex potion making, amongst having the ability to ward off werewolves. These beautiful, purple flowers would only have magical properties if picked on the day preceding the night of the full moon. As they only grew in more mountainous areas, they got the chance to get out of the greenhouses and enjoy working in the fresh air. Although irritated at given the task of working on something she saw as pointless, the work was easy and gave Hannah the chance to gather her thoughts and come to a decision. Despite Hermione's warning, she was going to talk to Professor Snape. She had to make sure he understood that she acknowledged the sacrifices he had made on her behalf.

Thankfully, Defence was their last lesson giving Hannah the chance to talk to Snape without having to run off to her next class. After assuring her two friends that she would catch them up, she approached Snape's desk and placed her essay on top of the others. His quill was furiously marking the first essay handed in, and the sound of its scratch was somehow satisfying to her. He was clearly trying to ignore her presence, but she waited patiently for a few moments before he sighed in irritation and looked up. It seemed to Hannah that he was trying not to sneer at her, but he failed, and she squirmed a little under his scrutiny as she bit her lip nervously.

"Yes, Miss Potter? Is there a reason you have not fled my classroom in relief like your fellow classmates?" She took one deep breath and mentally prepared herself.

"I um…I just…" pausing, and imagining the 'spit it out - you stupid girl!' remark she was sure he was thinking, she gathered some courage and bravely looked into his eyes.

"Neither of us have brought it up…but I've realised for a long time now, well since the battle really, that, well…I owe you my life, and I just wanted to thank you. I know it wasn't easy and your memories were – traumatising, to say the least. I'd never have told everyone about them if I knew you were alive and I'm sorry for that, and every other stupid thing I've done, but mostly…thank you, for everything you've done for me and - I'm very glad you survived." Hannah inwardly cringed at how inarticulate she sounded. Her words had all come out in a muddled unintelligible rush, and she could feel her face heating up slightly. She courageously continued to look into his stoic, seemingly unfeeling eyes, failing to guess at his response. His eyebrows furrowed together and he began to look even more irritated and confused, creating an expression that screamed: "what are you doing, you stupid girl?" Clearly, whatever he had expected her to say, that was not it.

"Just as eloquent as ever. However meaningful your sentiments are, they are most certainly misguided and unnecessary." The words stabbed at her heart strangely, but Snape continued speaking clearly and slowly as if to emphasise the point to a small child. "My actions were my own, taken to repair some of the damage I caused, not you. It was my duty to protect you from the danger I inflicted upon you by delivering that ridiculous prophecy. Your gratitude is therefore unwarranted. I do however...appreciate the overtly Gryffindor sentiment." She gaped at him – how could he think she owed him nothing?

"But…seventeen years is a very high price to pay for one poor decision! All I'm saying is that I'm...grateful that you were willing to pay it. I respect how much you must have gone through for us all to get to this point. For Vold…the Dark Lord to be defeated… we couldn't have done it without you. I just wanted…thank you." Cheeks burning furiously and her heart beating comically erratically she turned to leave, heading for the door before she could embarrass herself any further. Surprising her, his clear, deep voice carried across the classroom, despite the fact that he had resumed his scribbling all over their papers as if he was ignoring her.

"Seventeen years." He scoffed. "It was only hard work after The Dark Lord was reborn. Though, I admit you most certainly did not make keeping you safe an easy task. Having said that I should be thanking you, for not leaving me to rot in that abominable house that so rightly deserves the title shack. Dying in the place that Sirius intended me to meet my maker in would be shamefully unforgivable. I did not expect to survive the war, Miss Potter, but I am glad that my days amongst the dead are past. That is mostly down to you, is it not? We both stared death in the face that night, accepting our fate, and neither of us did it for our own good health." He looked up at her, his face neutral and expressionless, yet something in his eyes hinted at some unknown, unexpressed sentiment.

Utterly confused, she remained silently staring at him. He, was thanking her? It seemed the most unlikely of occurrences, but there it was. The two of them. In his classroom. No shouting, fighting, or throwing unfriendly spells at each other. Both simply grateful to be in the realm of the living. She had so many questions running through her mind, 'Do you hate me? Do you see me for me - just as I am?' But before she could comment further, Snape shook his head and resumed writing, his features darkening once more and his usual bored, irritated tone returning in full force.

"Do shut the door on your way out, Potter." Not knowing what else there was she could say and feeling somewhat disheartened, she left the room, resisting the urge to turn and glance at him. Ron and Hermione had been patiently waiting for her outside the classroom but were looking at her suspiciously.

"What took you so long? I started to think he'd given you detention or something even though the gits not supposed to," Ron said.

"I ugh…I had a question about our essay." Ron raised his eyebrows in utter disbelief.

"Oh sure. What bloody question could you possibly have about the theory of casting the Patronus charm and its practical defensive uses?"

"Well…I…forget it, it was a stupid question anyway. Look are we going to the Three Broomsticks tonight or not?" Both of her friends looked suspicious of her evasiveness, but to Hannah's relief, neither decided to press the issue.

Being of age at Hogwarts did come with certain benefits. It had been deemed appropriate that for returning eighth years, professors could no longer assign detentions or give and take house points. Arrangements were also made for eighth-years to be given private bedrooms, and they had the privilege of being able to leave the castle at will. Not for the first time since returning, Hannah, Ron, and Hermione had decided to visit the Three Broomsticks for a quiet drink after classes. The pub was somewhat busier than usual, with only one free table. Feeling somewhat like a third wheel sat with Ron and Hermione who had finally admitted their feelings to each other, Hannah found her mind – and eyes wondering from the conversation.

In the far corner, a slim, blonde woman with shockingly blue eyes was sitting alone, glancing around nervously and tapping her fingers on the table. It was almost as if she thought the whole pub was plotting against her. Ron and Hermione, however, seemed to be merrily reminiscing about their early Hogwarts careers.

"The look on Neville's face..." but Hannah was barely paying attention. Snape had just walked in and was heading towards the nervous looking woman, who got up and shook his hand. This woman, she decided, was far too beautiful for her liking and she felt a strange spike of jealousy course through her. What possible business could she have with Professor Snape? Could it be some kind of date? No, Hannah thought with unwarranted relief, who shakes hands on a date? Although, she thought Snape might just be the type to always be that formal. Try as she might, she couldn't hear what they were saying. Either they were too far away, or Snape had cast muffliato. While mentally chastising herself for sticking her nose into other people's business, she watched anyway feeling strangely and inexplicably drawn to the woman who had somehow lured Snape out of his dungeons. The woman was nodding and still nervously surveying the room. After a few minutes Snape got up, and Hannah heard the woman speak for the first time.

"Thank you – for understanding, it's uncommon," Snape frowned a little, but said nothing and headed towards the door, pausing as he reached Hannah's table. He looked at the small bottle they were sharing. Small, but admittedly containing fire whisky. He raised an eyebrow and surveyed them, seemingly unimpressed.

"I do hope you can hold your drink. Neither absence nor hangover will be tolerated tomorrow morning."

"No hangover cures from you then, sir?" Hannah said cheekily.

"Absolutely not! It is far beyond my ability to offer sympathy for such self-inflicted conditions. I'm still expecting an outstanding performance in your class tomorrow, and I won't be tolerating any excuses."

"Really, Professor, you know we're your best students. We're always outstanding." A curious glint appeared in his eyes, but he snorted disbelievingly.

"Always?" He asked as he eyed them reproachfully and folded his arms.

"Yup," Hannah asserted with a nod. With a disgruntled shake of his head and a swish of his cloak, Snape turned and left without giving them a second glance.

"Bloody hell! That was almost banter. I half expected the git to try and get us kicked out!" Ron said.

"He has a point though, we probably shouldn't stay out late when we have his class first thing. Probably best to be paying attention when people are throwing curses and hexes at you." Hermione muttered, seemingly unwillingly.

"It's not late Hermione! It's only seven!" Ron complained. Just when Hannah thought Hermione's words of wisdom were about to make them leave the warmth of the pub, the woman Snape had been talking to approached their table offering her hand out to Hannah.

"Hannah Potter, I believe? I can't tell you how honoured I am to meet you! I was an acquaintance of your mother. I've wanted to talk to you for some time." Hannah thought this was hard to believe – this woman, while admittedly much older and tired looking up close, could never be twenty years her senior. Begrudgingly, she took her hand and shook it. The woman smiled, pearly whites gleaming in the firelight, but Hannah didn't manage to smile back.

"Do you think we might talk in private? Somewhere we won't be interrupted? I have many memories of your parents that could pique your interest. It's supposed to be a clear night tonight and its many years since I've wandered the grounds at Hogwarts. Perhaps we could go for a stroll by the black lake? It would have to be tonight though I'm afraid, I work at the Ministry, and we're exceptionally busy at the moment, I suspect it'll be a whole month before I get another day off!"

Not really wanting to say yes, but equally unwilling to reject the possibility of any new insight into the parents she never knew, Hannah hesitated feeling unsure. Hermione kicked her leg under the table, and when she looked over at her, she was shaking her head with a steely look in her eye. It would be stupid to go, she knew that, and yet she was completely unable to resist either the prospect of finding out more about her parents, or discovering what business this regrettably beautiful woman had with Snape. After a moment of indecisiveness, she replied with mock enthusiasm.

"Yeah, alright! Why not? It would be nice to get to know a friend of my parents."

"Wonderful!" The woman grinned. "Meet me at Eight Thirty. If memory serves me correctly, there is a small island with a tree growing on it in the lake. Could you meet me on the embankment near it? I have a short…errand to take care of in the meantime." The woman left without giving her a chance to reply. They hadn't even had a chance to ask her name. The only real information she had was that the woman apparently worked for the Ministry and that Snape had been talking to her. Against her better judgement, she decided that if Snape was helping this woman out, then she'd probably be trustworthy enough for a quick chat on school property.

"I can't believe you agreed to that! She could be anyone, tell me you're not going to go? You've lost your mind!" Hermione said angrily.

"Aren't you interested in what she wanted with Snape? Besides if she knew my parents..."

"Nobody cares what she wanted with Professor Snape except you – you're obsessed! This infatuation is ridiculous! Professor Snape is twenty years older than you – you've seen his memories of your mother!" This comment was far too much for Ron to handle and he doubled over laughing, only barely managing to shut up when Hannah and Hermione both glared at him.

"Actually, he's only nineteen years older than me! But…fine, I admit it. Snape's hot. Hermione, I already know what you're going to say. I'm confusing my growing respect for him for attraction and that the best I can ever hope from him, with his being my teacher, is for him to be apathetic towards me. I'm not stupid, I'll get over it eventually, and I'll feel very foolish when I do. It's not like he's ever shown any kind of emotion other than anger or irritation at my presence anyway. I'm still going, curiosity will kill me otherwise."

"Bloody hell, I thought you were joking. What about my sister? I thought…you know…you liked girls. I mean you weren't exactly quiet about liking Cho either, and you've only ever had a girlfriend." Hannah sighed and rubbed her forehead. She hadn't been looking forward to this conversation.

"You know me and Ginny never resumed our relationship after the war. I'm sorry, but we were gone all year, and I just didn't really miss her. Besides, no offence but I think she only wanted a relationship with me because I was the chosen one. She's doing fine without me anyway, I saw her snogging some pretty sixth year a few days ago. As to liking girls…I dunno, perhaps I'm just equal opportunities, but whatever I am and whatever I'm not, it doesn't matter because I definitely like him. Even you two have to admit, our classmates are just…lacking in life experience, all things considered. Guess I just prefer…more mature men, not…boys." If Ron disagreed with her assessment, he did not say so. After a few of the most awkwardly silent minutes of her life, Hermione finally spoke.

"I don't think you're alone you know. I heard the Patil twins sniggering about how he's now some kind of romantic hero and how his voice makes them weak at the knees." Hannah smiled at her gratefully, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that it wasn't just her that found his deep voice irresistible. It was just like her friend to be understanding, even when she developed frankly weird obsessions with her most formidable and intimidating teacher.

"I better get going if I'm going to be on time, it's a long walk. Look you two stay here and finish that bottle – we did pay for it after all. Don't worry, whoever she is, she can hardly be dangerous if Snape's helping her out can she?" Not wanting any further arguments, Hannah left the comforting warmth of the pub and headed towards the black lake alone, the light of the full moon guiding her path.