"Severussss." The sibilant voice washed over the Potions Master. "This wand does not work for me." He held up the wand he had helped himself to from Dumbledore's tomb. "Why is that?"

"You are an extraordinary wizard, my Lord. Any wand should work. I've seen you do glorious magic with the wand you now hold."

"I have done ordinary magic, Severusss, only ordinary. However, I have been lied to. I was told I only needed another wand as my wand and his were brothers and could not fight against each other. I believed that this was The Elder Wand, the one that would overcome Potter, and give me all the power I so rightly deserve, but it seems it is not. The Elder Wand….I must have it."

"My Lord?"

"I cannot kill Harry Potter until I have the Elder Wand. I need it, Severussss."

"I do not know who would have it, my Lord."

"I was most certain Dumbledore had it, and so I helped myself to it. When it did not work as it should, I then remembered an old legend; the wand can only have one master. That master must overcome the master who owned it before. Do you know who overcame Dumbledore, Severussss?" Voldemort paced in slow circles around the Potions master.

"No, my Lord." Snape's stomach clenched. Voldemort's voice was sweet and calm, but it was only a matter of moment before the sweetness would turn to fury.

Severus knew well the story of the Elder Wand; he and Dumbledore as spoken of it many times. Voldemort would torture and perhaps kill him for this information, especially if he thought Severus was the master of the wand now.

Voldemort stopped pacing and stood facing Severus, his fetid breath washing over the Potions Master as he spoke, "You did. The night you killed him on the tower. You are the owner of the Elder Wand."

"I assure you my Lord, I am not the owner. I still have my wand."

"Let me see!" Voldemort screamed, spittle landing on Severus' cheek.

Severus held his wand up. "You see, my Lord? Still the same wand I have always had."

Voldemort snatched the wand and looked it over greedily. His disappointment showed as he dropped the wand to the floor. "So it is Severussss, so it is. But if you do not have it, then who does?"

Severus thought about that night on the tower. He remembered that Bellatrix and several other Death Eaters were present, prowling and taunting Dumbledore as he lay weakened and dying. Draco and Potter were also present. Draco was terrified. Too young and innocent to complete his task, he stepped back to watch Snape step forward in his place. Harry was petrified in the corner, covered by the invisibility cloak.

Severus suddenly realized that while the legend of the Elder wand seemed pretty straightforward regarding how the wand is mastered, the underlying subtly of mastering the wand was often disregarded. The wand didn't have to be won in a fight, it just to be taken with intent. Draco had disarmed Dumbledore before Severus ultimately killed him. The Elder Wand's allegiance was to Draco; Draco owned the Elder Wand!

"My Lord," Severus spoke suddenly and quickly, "If I may, I know who has the wand. I can get it for you, if you let me."

Voldemort looked nearly gleeful. "Yes, Severussss, do so and be quick. I must have that wand. Bring it to me here at the boathouse in one hour. I must attend to another matter." With that, Voldemort Disapparated.

Severus let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding as soon as Voldemort left. He bent over, hands on his knees, exhausted. The duplicitous role he had been playing for the past year was mentally and physically exhausting. This past half hour in the Dark Lord's presence had drained him magically as he struggled to keep his Occlumency shields in place.

Thinking quickly, he scooped his wand up into his hand and made his decision. He closed his eyes. Destination, Determination, Deliberation. At the last moment, the Sydney Opera House popped into his mind. He had only a moment to be flabbergasted before the familiar pull behind his navel whirled him away.

It was chaos, utter chaos. Stones that had supported the walls of that castle for longer than a millennia were lying out across the grounds, broken. Bodies of students were being transferred to the Hospital Wing—or what was left of it—the living before the dead. Her hands felt numb, but she could see them shaking, her wand trembling madly in her tight grip.

"Harry Potter is dead!" Maniacal laughter rang throughout the courtyard, and she turned slowly, attempting to deny the reality that would await her wide eyes. And it was horrible.

Hagrid's large hands tenderly cradled a small bundle of flesh and bones, much like he had sixteen years ago when he brought Harry to the Dursleys. Hermione's eyes couldn't focus on her friend's face, so she stared at his glasses, a tad askew on his blurry face, and at his hand, hanging limp, but somehow still holding his wand. The brother to the wand that killed him.

That killed him. Harry Potter was dead.

She sat up with a gasp, visions of bloody bodies clouding her waking vision. Her stomach twisted and turned, and she raced to the bathroom and turned on the tap. She splashed the cold water on her neck and temples before holding her wrists under the icy stream. When she was sure she wasn't going to vomit, she reached for a hand towel, dipping a corner into the stream of water before dabbing it across her face and chest to rinse off the sweat that gripped her skin like a shadow.

Hermione glanced up at the face in the mirror, noting the grey lines under her eyes, and the deep furrows etched beside her lips, aging her before her time. Grief did that to a person. But Harry wasn't dead, he had been alive, and the battle was long over. Voldemort had been defeated, and most of his Death Eaters had been rounded up and given the requisite Dementor's Kiss.

Tomorrow, or was it today, Hermione was joining her friends, Harry and Ron, at a further reading of Dumbledore's will. Apparently, some of the material in the document was to be read only after the war was over in order to protect as many people as possible. She sighed, lowering herself onto her haunches and then curled up on the floor. She had been to too many funerals, seen too many dead bodies, and heard too many eulogies and wills read. Enough to last her seven lifetimes.

And now she had to go to Dumbledore's second will reading. Only a man who had five names could possibly have two will readings. She laughed weakly at the thought.

She forced herself up from the floor and stumbled into the shower, stubbing her toe on the base of the tub, causing it to throb painfully as she stripped her nightclothes off and into a clumsy pile on the tiled floor.

It was strange to be living at home all by herself. Her parents were still living as Monica and Wendell Wilkins in Gladstone, Australia, and had no memories of their daughter, the brightest witch of her age. She massaged shampoo into her aching scalp and clenched her eyes shut against the bubbles and the water's spray. She rubbed idly at her neck as the soap trailed down her body, trying to ignore the exhaustion that plagued her.

The Battle had been on the Second of May, it was now July 30th. Her nightmares didn't give any indication that they were going away either. She wasn't just plagued by the bodies that had littered the ground. Some of the deaths she had put to rest in her mind. It was every single 'almost', where they almost failed, or someone almost died, which hounded her now. Her mother had once said that the surest death was dealt by what-if's.

"You've got to get past this, Granger. Breathe and keep moving. Don't stand still for too long. And don't ever forget." She repeated her mantra over and over, like she did every morning, and let the balm of those words caress the tattered edges of her soul, mending them a bit.

Once her hair was rinsed out, she turned the water off and stepped out. Forgoing a towel, she stood before her steamed mirror and dragged a brush through her hair while it was somewhat manageable. Once she had tamed her still damp hair into a sort of braid down her back, she appraised herself in the foggy mirror. She reached forward and placed her palm against the chilly surface. In a swift crisscrossing gesture, she smeared the fog from her mirror and judged her reflection.

She wasn't pleased by what she saw—she was far too thin, going so long with little to no food while on the run with her boys, and then barely eating after the battle; partly from habit and partly because she couldn't keep anything down other than tea and a bit of toast. War changed people, she knew, but her diet was the last thing she had expected to be affected.

She turned to the side and lightly touched the pads of her fingers to the visible jutting of her hipbones, and to the lines, which her ribs made, in her skin below her partly deflated breasts that sagged from her collarbone. She wouldn't be attracting anyone's gaze anytime soon. The thought shouldn't have hurt her since she'd always preferred to give everything its honest value—and physical beauty was such a shallow, transient thing—but she looked unhealthy and recognized the unattractiveness in an unhealthy partner.

She sighed, and turned away from her reflection, eyes moving instead to her left arm, where Bellatrix's carving marked her as somehow less than human. Her fingers moved to touch it, and jerked away as though the mark burned them—the mark was always hot, hotter than her hottest bathwater, hotter than her tea kettle, and probably hotter than anything, except maybe all the hatred Bellatrix had poured into the wound. Harry mentioned he never felt any heat from it, but didn't doubt that Hermione felt it. Magic was a strange creature, shifting the walls of normalcy on a daily basis.

She gave up trying to see the face she remembered, that hopeful girl who longed to learn new things, prove herself to others, and to strive to be the best she could. In her place was a woman. A woman who would trade several of her favourite books for a long period of peace, and a reprieve from death and from loss. But this woman wasn't foolish enough to belief she could find happiness any more. She had been dealt the worst life had to offer, and nothing would ever seem as pure or innocent to her ever again.

With a small bit of distaste, she cast a few glamour charms over her figure so that she appeared if not well, at least healthy. It wouldn't do for Molly to imagine one of her dears was starving herself to death, particularly since Fred was…

What to wear; that was a safe topic to think about. Something somber, of course, in dark colors, just as she had been wearing for the past year. There was little left to celebrate anymore.

She pulled out a grey skirt and a navy blouse. Once she had her pants and stockings on, she pulled on the outfit and grabbed her black robes. Sliding her feet into a comfortable pair of flats, she charmed her braid to stay relatively neat.

And with a small pop, she was gone.

The late winter sunshine poured through the small window in the room Severus slept, wakening the wizard. He was having such a good dream, too—a warm and willing redheaded witch had been bobbing up and down on his cock. Severus' hand moved of its own volition to wrap around his member to stroke it as his mind desperately clung to the mage. It didn't take long, ten strokes at the most, before he groaned out his release. Still holding his deflating member, he lay for a moment longer catching his breath before reaching for a tissue from the box on the cabinet by his bed.

When he finished cleaning up, he tossed the tissue in the bin nearby and got up. He grabbed his toiletry kit from its spot in the cabinet and headed for the common bathroom. He shared a boarding house with six other men, all of them Muggles, since arriving in Gladstone ten weeks ago. Standing in the hot shower, Severus' thoughts went back to what happened after he Apparated away from the boathouse.

When he first appeared near the Sydney Opera House, he walked around, keeping to the shadows, before finding a Muggle man about his height and size. He confounded the man, took his clothes and wallet and fled the scene. Severus knew he was mostly likely a wanted man, so he would need to keep his wand use to a minimum.

He had wandered through the city finally finding an all night shop where he bought some fruit, a sandwich and something to drink. He made his way to a secluded area in a nearby park to eat and when he was done, slid under a shrub to sleep.

A policeman found him the next morning, gave him a warning and one other thing that would ultimately be what saved Severus from starvation and death. The cop handed him a small white card with the name of several missions where he could go for a shower, change of clothes, some food and perhaps, if he were lucky enough, a day job for a bit of money. Thanking the man and then wandlessly Obliviating him so that he could not identify him later, Severus quickly left the area.

In a matter of days, with a careful combination of public transportation and Apparating, Severus found himself outside one of the missions located along the wharf in Gladstone. Severus entered and was made welcome. In short, order he found himself with another change of clothes, a meal, and a cot for the night. In the morning, he would see about a job.

The small courtroom was bustling with people; all the Weasleys were there, including Fleur who held a small blanket full of a strawberry-blonde girl and Andromeda Tonks, who was bouncing a yellow-haired infant with skin darker even than Kingsley's on her knee. As she watched, Teddy's appearance shifted into fair skin and red hair as he smiled up at Arthur Weasley. Hermione gave both children of the war a tremulous smile. Had Harry and Neville been like that? So innocent, but so precious, bought at the highest cost?

Hermione glanced at the clock and moved quickly to her seat, scrunched tightly between Ron and Harry, right at the very front.

"Mione," Ron whispered, tacking his arm along her stiff shoulders. "How've… How've things been going with getting to your parents?"

She smiled wanly at him. "I check in at the Foreign Floos Registrar just after this. I won't be needing much, but I did pack some clothes, books, and things in my carryall last night. I shrunk it and have it in my purse now."

Ron nodded. "And you're sure you don't want us with you?" Harry had turned to face her as well, hand coming down to grip hers.

She squeezed his hand back. "No. I need to do this on my own. Besides, Harry, Ginny won't let go of you, and Ron, if you think your mother would let you out of the country after… I mean, Charlie still hasn't gone back to Romania. Don't worry about it; I'll be fine. And I'll write you every day."

Put at ease, they turned and listened to the official who began to explain the proceedings, and then repeated Dumbledore's list of postmortem entitlements from the previous will. Hermione bit her lip to keep from tapping her foot impatiently on the echoing stone floor. Her fingernails—bitten to the quick—were drumming on her elbows without her consent.

"…and finally, the newest information is to be revealed once You-Know-Who, ahem, Lord Voldemort, previously Tom Marvolo Riddle, has been defeated. Concerning Professor Severus Tobias Snape;" Hermione wasn't imagining it, every spine in the courtroom stiffened. Almost everyone held their breath, waiting to hear what the late Headmaster wanted to say about his murderer. "He served as a double agent the entire time young Harry Potter was alive. His tasks were heavy, and there is little I can do to remedy that. But, in recognition of my placing even the heaviest task upon his shoulders, in return for killing me—" Here the entire crowd stopped breathing and Hermione felt herself standing in shock alongside Harry. "—for, killing me, as I ordered him to do, in order to prevent the disease within my body from killing my mind and body, and to prevent a student from becoming a murderer, I leave everything not given away to Severus Tobias Snape, including all of my properties in both Germany and the United Kingdom."

The official stopped reading, staring at the parchment as though it disgusted him. Harry moved to shout something, but moved his hands to rub each other instead, as though recalling Dumbledore's withered hand, a withering that had crept along his arm. "Draco… he did look terrified… that night…"

Hermione swallowed thickly, and turned her mind to every time Professor Snape had risked his life for her specifically. In her third year, most prominently, when he threw himself between her and the werewolf, Moony. But he had also protected her, and the other students in unseen and darker ways than she had ever imagined. Perhaps her own parents would forgive her then, she thought, if Dumbledore could forgive Snape. If she could forgive him, perhaps things wouldn't be so terrible with her parents.

After all, Albus forgave Snape—even felt like he owed everything to the man. The Weasleys were loudly whispering their confusion and protests, but Hermione moved to slip away. She hugged her boys tightly and walked out, head still buzzing with the knowledge that the man she had thought betrayed them was in fact a hero.

She made it to the Foreign Floos Registrar on autopilot, but returned to herself long enough to fill out the necessary forms before using the large fireplace marked "Down Under" in aboriginal-style letters. As the green flames whirled her along, soot tickling her nose, she kept her wand firmly in her hand, ready to defend herself, an action as natural as breathing now.

Once she was through, she nodded politely at the wizard manning the floos, brushed the soot from her robes, and walked over to the desk to fill out her arrival paperwork. Once everything was completed to the satisfaction of one very forward witch named Bess, who simply refused to believe a witch like her wasn't taken, and no Hermione wasn't interested in drinks, or perhaps more, with her later.

She removed her robe, shrunk it and tucked it into her pocket before walking over to a local Muggle coffee shop that had Wi-Fi connected computers for its patrons to use. Within moments, she had a warm cup of tea and a search engine up and running. She soon found the address for the dental practice of one M. Wilkins, W. Wilkins, T. Fossent, L. Mortens, and J. Dreyer.

She left the coffee shop, tucked herself into a shallow alleyway beside the building, and Apparated to a town called Gladstone. Once at the dental office, she walked right in and asked the heavily pregnant secretary named Susan if she could use their phone book. After chatting with the pregnant redhead for a few minutes, she flipped through the pages and jotted down the address listed for Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

Since it was only a few blocks away, she decided to walk there. After thanking Susan, and returning the book, she set off.

Monica and Wendell Wilkins had an amazing life. They had a well-established dental practice with three other dentists in partnership, a large home with substantial grounds, and a very active social life. The only regret they had was their inability to have children. Because of this, they focused their need to nurture and love to others and were very active in works of charity. They offered free dental care to the poverty-stricken residents of Gladstone as well as working in the mission and soup kitchen of their local church.

No matter how skilled Wendell Wilkins was at using his small dental instruments, he was not skilled in the least with hammer, saw, or lawnmower. For jobs around the house that didn't require a contractor and for monthly yard work, they hired men from the mission on a daily rate to complete the work. The men and the Wilkins were quite satisfied with the arrangement.

Monica had decided one late August morning that it was time to get the garden ready for spring with a rather ambitious overhaul and replanting. Thinking she would hire a landscaper for the ultimate design and planting, she would hire one of the mission men to do all the removal and grunt labor.

Severus Snape just happened to be looking at the jobs for hire board one morning at the mission when he saw a notice for some garden work at a residence just a few city blocks walk away. Having designed and maintained the one greenhouse at Hogwarts where he grew his more uncommon potion ingredients, Severus decided this would be within his capabilities. He tore the advertisement down, ate his breakfast, tidied up and headed out the door.

He arrived at the home of the Wilkins and knocked on the door. After introducing himself, he was led to the back garden, and there the Wilkins explained what they wanted. Severus briefly explained that prior to his unemployment, he worked in a school that taught agriculture and biology (he scoffed as he made that lie up). As part of the students' responsibility, and as an object lesson, they were required to grow the plants used in the biology lessons and in the kitchen for meals. The Wilkins agreed to try him out for a few days and if he was suitable, he could complete the prep work.

He was more than suitable. As the days went by, he used his knowledge to help the Wilkins design a new garden and pick new plants. He convinced Wendell to buy the material himself and allow Severus to do the work. All parties were happy with this arrangement. His meager wages allowed him to rent a room in a boarding house and be able to buy simple groceries to make meals, and he enjoyed the work.

Only one thing really bothered Severus at this point, and that was the family that lived next door. They put him in mind of the Malfoy's. Severus observed the husband and wife left the house each morning dressed to the nines and perfectly coiffed, hopped in their expensive looking car and drove away. Their only son, a Draco-clone, discovered Severus at work in the garden one day and wandered over to amuse himself.

"Another bum, I see."

Severus glared at the boy and then returned to his work.

"What's the matter? Too drugged out to work a real job? Gotta take handouts?"

Severus stood up from his work to look at the boy. "Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"Ah, the bum speaketh! And nope… not till Uni starts. Not that it's your business, loafer."

"Well, go find something to do, I must get to work. I know that's a foreign concept for you."

"Old man, get a life." The boy turned to leave after the small exchange and as he did so, Severus sent a small stinging hex to his backside. The boy yelped and turned around. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Language, boy. I did nothing; how could I have?" He gave the boy the famous Snape smirk.

The boy was quite angry. "Fuck you, old man! I'm watching you." He made a ludicrous motion with his hands where he pointed to his eyes and then at Severus.

Severus was thoroughly nonplussed and got back to work. This went on for several weeks; the boy would come and annoy Severus, and he would shoot a small hex at the boy. He was careful not to use his wand too much for this, relying on wandless magic so that he could not be easily traced. To be honest, he was not sure if the British Ministry had reported Severus Snape as a criminal-at-large to the rest of the Wizarding World, and he had not bothered to find out of there was any Wizard population in Gladstone or nearby.

Busy one evening at the front garden at the Wilkins, Severus heard the soft click of a woman's shoe against the pavement. He thought nothing of this as it was a sound familiar enough to be ignored. It was the stopping of the noise that drew his attention. He looked up from his work to see who had stopped.

Severus was not one to arbitrarily blurt out curse words, but the word flew out of his mouth before his brain could register a need to speak. "Fuck," he said, as he looked up to see Miss Hermione Jean Granger.

A/N: The word bludger used above is not our familiar ball from Quidditch. It is Aussie speak for one who does not work and relies on Social Security payments. At least according to Google.