AN: With thanks to my husband, who spent hours rescuing this after I accidentally deleted every damn word.
And with apologies to JK Rowling for well... all of it.

M for adult language, theme and some smut*

This story is told from two, alternating perspectives in both third and first person.
It sounds ridiculous because it is ridiculous, but it was a lot of fun to write and so hopefully, somewhat enjoyable to read.

Severus' perspective is marked as S.
Hermione's as H.
Internal monologue is in italics.

"When love is not madness, it is not love."

1. Speechless

S.

From his fingertips to his toes, his nerves blistered as though on fire, and he began, in his delirium, to wonder if there was more than one wound. He gripped his throat so tightly, he thought he might choke. His fingers trembled, clinging onto his skin; into his cuts. It was this or blood loss. Blood loss was death, no doubt. Snape had known from the beginning that Dumbledore's plan was risky. There were too many variables. Too much relied on things falling perfectly into place, which they rarely ever did.

Not in my experience, anyway. God, everything hurts.

If Potter hadn't shown up when he did, he wouldn't have been able to pass on what he knew and the boy would never have known that he was to die. He would have fought until the very end, taking God knows how many innocent people with him.

All because that preposterous old fool didn't trust anybody, and that little brat wouldn't take his Occlumency lessons seriously. Potter has the memories. He's probably running off to Dumbledore's office right now to stick that thick head of his into that bloody pensieve. The Dark Lord believes I am dead. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. So where is the fucking phoenix I was promised?

Snape stared into the dark of the shack that would soon become his final resting place if that damned bird didn't show up soon. He kept his one hand fixed to the pulsing wreckage of his throat, and used the other to pat the dank floor in search of his wand.

I will not die here in this place; the refuge of the so-called 'Marauders'. I refuse.

He seethed as one of the old floorboards splintered and shot into his fingertip.

Where is my fucking wand!? Where is that resplendent pigeon!? If I ever make it out of here, I will find that bloody bird and stuff it.

Every second that passed - and Fawkes did not emerge to heal him - was a second closer to death.

I was loyal to Dumbledore until the very end, was I not? I am here on his orders, aren't I? I stuck to his plan, ridiculous as it was. I did everything he asked me to do. I'm going to fucking die! For him? Harry fucking Potter!

Snape curled his hand around the familiar grip of his wand and his mind ran frantically through his options. He wasn't fit to apparate. Even if he could, where the hell would he go? Even if he had a place of refuge - somewhere, anywhere to go - he couldn't risk it.

I'm supposed to be dead. Dead men don't apparate.

Still the bird did not appear and Severus felt panic rise in his chest. He had waited long enough. The longer he waited, the louder he heard the call of those he had lost. Lily's call. His mother's call. Albus' call.

'Join us.'

The bird wasn't coming. He knew it then, as he'd known it all along.

A healing spell... a healing spell. Okay. Fuck! I can do this. If only my head would stop spinning for thirty bloody seconds so I could think.

A clattering, followed by the unmistakable sound of footfall forced Snape's heart straight into his gullet. He closed his eyes, and held his breath. It took all of his strength to force his hand away from his throat. He kept his mouth shut like a bear trap. He daren't move. Daren't look down. What would he see? How much blood had he lost? He wanted to gasp, wanted to scream - it wouldn't just give him away - it would kill him.

The footsteps moved closer and Severus could hear the hammering of his heart, betraying his living energy. Not dead. Alive. Alive and in danger. He felt the brush of air against his clothes, as someone rushed towards him. His heart beat faster and harder when he felt the warmth of touch against his hand, and there was a wave of a vaguely floral perfume that lingered under his nose. It was pleasant and familiar. He felt the hands move from his, and it was all he could do not to grab hold, cling for dear life. And then there came pressure on his wrist.

They're checking my pulse. I'm fucked.

"Professor?"

He recognised the voice immediately.

Oh, fuck off. Really? Her?!

Snape opened his eyes and took in the ghostly pale face of Hermione Granger. She was a picture of fear, and he wasn't afraid to admit that the sight afflicted him.

Is she frightened of what she sees? Is she frightened of me? Death Eater. Dumbledore's killer.

"You're alive?"

For now.

Snape opened his mouth and tried to say the words, but all that came was a gargled, strangling sound. His eyebrows narrowed as he tried again.

I can't speak? Of course I can't speak. I can hardly bloody breathe.

"You can't talk", she said, gently. "It's the damage from the bite."

Really? Nothing escapes you, does it?

Oh god!

As she moved his hand, blood pulsed from the laceration and he held his breath once more. Pain. Everything was pain. Pain is all that there was.

"I'm sure it will be fine", she said.

Fix it!

'Join us!'

No. I don't want to die! Not here. Not now.

She tore the sleeve of her shirt and pressed it against his throat like a tourniquet. She was gentler than he'd anticipated, and although her fingers shook, her furrowed brow told him that she was determined.

Imagine if it was the know-it-all that got me out alive.

Hermione summoned her bag and plunged her hand deep inside and pulled out a small glass bottle of clear liquid. She unstoppered it, and used the dropper to apply the liquid liberally to the bite-mark. He began to feel better immediately.

Essence of Dittany. She's prepared, at least. Will I live?

Everything was pain still, but it was cloudy. It did not snap at his chest. It simply sat atop it, clutching his very essence in its claws. She did not meet his eye. She had yet to even look at his face. Maybe if she imagined he was somebody else, she could work faster.

Maybe not looking at you is the only way she can work on you at all. Maybe if she looked at you, she would walk away and leave you here to die.

:

H.

How has he survived this? I was sure I would return to a dead man. Why did I come? What do I do? God, I'm out of my depth.

Hermione held her breath as she allowed another couple of drops of Dittany to fall onto the laceration on Snape's throat. She placed the tourniquet back, and held it tight to his skin. His robes were thick with blood; his black hair was matted and sticky. Her eyes fell to the floor and she held her gaze on one of the knots in the wood. Anything to avoid looking at him. If she saw those black eyes, she might lose focus. How would Harry feel if he knew she was here, in this place, with the man who killed Dumbledore? She wondered what memories had been relinquished. Was there more to the story?

There is always more to the story.

She'd known from the moment Snape began to surrender that silvery liquid that there was something that she didn't know; something that nobody knew. Hermione moved her hand from his throat, and was pleased to see that it began to heal. She grabbed her wand from her pocket and summoned a small bowl and some gauze from inside her bag.

She placed the tip of her wand against the lip of the bowl and said, "Aguamenti."

Hermione soaked the gauze in the water, wrung it out and applied it to the wound. She began to see the extent of the damage. Although the Dittany had closed the cuts, there was extensive damage where the snake had attacked. She had expected puncture wounds, but the snake had torn his throat to shreds.

"How are you still alive?" she asked, locking her eyes on another knot in the dusty floorboards. "I don't understand. This should have killed you. If not from the lacerations, then surely her venom should have killed you."

She ran her fingers across his throat and then lingered, tracing the lines of the cut. He sucked in a sharp breath.

Shit.

"Sorry".

Severus leant back on to the wall behind him and rested his heavy head on his shoulder. He pushed her hand aside, and ran his own across the injury.

Stubborn ox.

His fingers followed its sharp edges, moving along the horizontal line from under his ear to below his opened his mouth to speak again but no words came.

"What can I do to help, Sir?"

He opened his mouth and inhaled with a depth she supposed came from near his stomach.

"Go", he just about managed.

"You want me to leave?"

He winced as he shook his head.

He will die if I don't take him somewhere. Is that what he's telling me. He needs to get out of here. Back to the castle?

"I could take you to the hospital wing?"

Snape grabbed her hand, and she snapped her head up to look at him. His eyes were fierce and frightened.

"Nuh."

"Why?" she asked. "They're much better prepared to care for you than I am."

More willing to care for you than I am.

He raised his hand to his throat, and then pointed with a limp hand, in a gesture that she supposed was towards outside in general.

"... Voldemort?" she ventured.

Snape nodded.

Ah, right.

"You're supposed to be dead?"

He nodded again.

"And you need to stay dead."

:

S.

"Okay, I'll figure something out. You should just keep hold of your wound, okay?" Granger said. "I know that the Dittany has healed most of it, but you can't be too sure. And rest your voice, we don't want to do further damage. We need to go somewhere safe - perhaps somewhere secret-kept, like Shell Cottage. Although I don't know how Bill and Fleur would feel about having you there. They were nice enough to take in Griphook, but then again Griphook didn't kill Dumbledore..."

Well, neither did I. Not really.

"... There's got to be somewhere I can take you. St. Mungo's maybe? Although, there will probably be too many people there, you're bound to be seen..."

God, does she ever shut up? Maybe dying wouldn't be so terrible. Death would be preferable to listening to her insufferable, incessant chatter. Do you know what? Just leave me here.

Severus coughed impatiently which was then followed by a splutter as he choked. She pushed her hand to his throat. Even though he was no longer bleeding, he could quite easily split open his scars. He was grateful.

And stupid.

"Can you not undo all of my work please by being hot-tempered", she said. "I'm trying my best. I don't know where to take you. I need to leave you with someone who can look after you."

Snape shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"I can't leave you alone. How will you take care of yourself?"

Much in the same way I have cared for myself these past forty years.

But the thought occurred to him then, that perhaps he did need someone to care for him, and he shuddered. He couldn't go anywhere. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was reliant on her now. His life was literally, in her hands.

She moved her fingers from his throat and Snape clicked his fingers to get her attention. He allowed the cracked rasp of his voice to say 'hurry'. It was almost decipherable. She screwed up her face and he jutted his chin at the doorway, then wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged a little harder than he needed, to tell her that he was ready to go.

:

H.

God, I don't know what to do.

Hermione paced the shack, and each time the floorboards squeaked under foot, she felt her heart pause in its rhythm. There was only one place she could think to take him.

Do I dare? Do I even want to?

She knew he would be safe there, because she had ensured that it was safe herself. A great number of spells and wards and vows kept the place a secret. And nobody would ever think to look for him there, if they even bothered to look for him at all.

I can't leave him there alone. I would have to stay with him.

He would need someone to look after him, whether he liked it or not.

Take him there. Or leave him here. That's it. Those are your options.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyebrows and put his hands on the floor, palms down and flat. He pushed up, all of his weight onto his arms and when his elbows buckled and he crumpled; he let out a frustrated groan that didn't suit him. Usually, he was frustrated with a student's incompetence; he was never frustrated because he couldn't do something.

Was there anything he couldn't do?

His eyes shot wide, and Hermione's followed, when the sound of footsteps came from outside the room. The sound grew louder as whoever made it, grew closer. Hermione felt her heart in her throat and wondered if he felt the same. They shared a look, and she knew that he was frightened. It was his fear that upped her terror.

Make a decision, Hermione. Take him or leave him.

"Come on", she said quickly, and moved to his side. "Come on. I'm going to take you home."

"Nuh!"

"Not yours. Mine."

She lifted his arm and wrapped it around her neck and shoulder and pulled out her wand, and just as the door swung open, with a crack, Hermione and Snape disapparated into the darkness. She had transferred the property into her name, in case she needed to return. Not that it felt much like home without her parents to greet her. Severus moved slowly in a stagger into the room behind her, as she turned on the living room lights.

:

S.

She's taking me home? Why? She can't trust me... surely?

A sour voice came from the back of his mind.

Why the hell would she trust you, you miserable old bastard? Have you ever given her a reason to? Have you ever given anyone a reason to?

Dumbledore, he answered it, and what a waste of my energy that was. The Potter boy was to die anyway. Why did I even bother putting in those twenty years of service?

She pulled out her wand, and he thought for a moment that she was going to hex him.

I spend too much time with bloody Death Eaters.

Instead, she carefully levitated him up the stairs and into a small bedroom, no larger than a jail cell at Azkaban. Not that he cared to remember his time there. Even though it had only been a three-week stint in his teens. It was enough to know that he never wanted to return.

Will they throw me back in if I return to the wizarding world? Will Potter tell them that I'm not a murderer? Not in the conventional sense. Will they listen to him? Will he even survive?

Hermione flicked her wrist and parted the covers on the single bed that filled the whole length of the room.

"This is our guest bedroom, sorry it's so small", she said, almost guiltily. "You could have my room, I guess, if you need more space?"

Oh, fuck no! Absolutely not.

She caught his wild eyes, and he watched hers flicker across his face, unable to find a resting place, and then she laughed. He wasn't sure what it was that was so funny, but to his surprise, it was nice to hear her laughter. It had been so long since he had seen joy. Longer still since he had felt it.

But that was before. His role was done now. He had played Death Eater and Spy for long enough. It was over, if he wanted it to be. He could walk away if he so chose.

If only I could fucking walk.

:

H.

"I think you should get some rest", she said, and tilted her head towards the bed.

He didn't react, but Hermione had learned that silence was as good a response as any when it came to Professor Snape. He nodded and moved his arms to pull off his cloak, but he moved too quickly and he let loose a howl of pain.

"Let me?" she asked.

She made sure that it was a question. The upward inflection was important when it came to dealing with a proud man, she had learned.

Ron is a proud man, too.

He didn't come across that way in the beginning, what with his humour and laid-back attitude. But underneath it all, he valued power and status above all else.

Probably because he's never had much of either.

Hermione's gaze fell to the window, past the glass to the street outside, where children played in the garden across the street, oblivious to the war in the wizarding world.

God, I miss Ron. I hope he's okay.

A wicked voice in the back of her mind responded.

You should be with him.

She moved towards Snape, standing behind him, keeping as much distance between them as she could while still being useful. She held his cloak, helping to guide it off his body, while he shrugged out of it. He winced and flinched with every movement.

I can help, if you'd only bloody let me.

Snape lowered himself carefully onto the bed and climbed in. He kicked off his boots and they dropped to the floor with a thud. He moved onto his side and tucked his knees up with great difficulty.

"You sleep in the foetal position? I'd never have expected that of you", she said.

Why did you say that?

"Not that I've ever thought about you sleeping at all. That would be weird. Honestly, I'm just a little creeped out by this situation. I'm sorry."

Oh my God, why can't I stop talking!

"I promise I've never thought about you that way. I don't think I ever imagined you sleeping at all. I know that you must sleep, but it doesn't seem like something you'd do. Now if you told me that you crawled into a coffin every morning to avoid the sunlight, that I could believe..."

He looked at her, and raised one eyebrow, and made another small strangled sound, but instead of pain, it sounded almost like laughter.

Did I make him laugh?

Can he laugh? Is he capable?

He lay his head on the pillow. His black hair spilled across the white cotton, in perfect contrast.

"Aren't you going to take off your clothes first?"

His face was pure horror.

That'd be a 'no', then? Can't say I'm disappointed.

"I'll be next door in my old room. If you need me, just give me a shout."

He rolled his eyes.

"Right, okay, err, you can't shout. Obviously... So... should I stay with you then, in case you need something?"

Snape pulled his wand from under the pillow and with a dramatic, irritated flick of his wrist, he whipped the lamp off the bedside table and sent it crashing into the wall opposite the window. It shattered, and the sound splintered into the silence, echoing around the room.

"I suppose that will do."

She stepped towards the door and with a turn of her head she said, "you can clean that up, by the way."

With another flourish of his wand, the broken pieces of the lamp swam through the air, and joined together, landing perfectly back on the table in one piece. It was beautifully done, really.

"Right, I'll leave you, then. Goodnight, Professor."

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of him, before flicking the switch on the wall and plunging the room into darkness.

This is too weird. Professor Snape... in my house? I wish I could tell Ginny. Or Ron. I'll tell them when I see them.

If you see them, the wicked voice said. You don't know if they are dead or alive. You don't know anything. You have sided with an intolerable heel, while your friends are out there fighting a war... without you.

She stood out on the landing, unable to commit herself to the four walls of a room. She was there in the in-between space.

What have I done? I don't know what to do now. I don't know why I'm here. I just don't know.

And that was the truth. Hermione wasn't sure of very much at present. She wasn't sure if her friends were safe, or in peril; dead or alive. She didn't know why she'd chosen to help Snape. Or if it was the right call. She didn't know why she'd gone back for him in the first place. She was sure of so very little.

But of the things she knew, she was absolutely certain.

One.
It won't be easy.

Whatever came next would test her patience and her nerve. Snape was a difficult man at the best of times, and this might well be the worst of times.

Two.
There is more to the story.

There was something she didn't know, and whatever the secret was, she wanted in on it. The man she had known for seven years was a bully and a wretch, no doubt... but a villain? A murderer?

That was yet another thing that she didn't know.

And finally, three.
He needs me.

And that was reason enough to help, wasn't it? Who would she be if she walked away from someone who needed her? Hermione Granger loved a project, and she had found one, broken and bloodied; clinging to life on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Hermione stepped further onto the landing and leant against the bannister. She rubbed her temples with fingers, in a bid to stop the blistering, pounding ache inside her head.

He's here now. He's safe now. That is all that matters. But what about tomorrow? What the hell have I gotten myself into?