AN: Thank you for the kind reviews! This is my first published fic, so I love to hear your thoughts.

Thanks are due to my wonderful Beta Musey Muse.

Anti Legislation Charm: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. All characters and situations will be returned unharmed.

Two

Hermione was cold, hungry, and tired. Shivering, she pulled the blankets tighter around her, knowing it wouldn't help. The cold did not come from her surroundings, it came from that aching gap inside of her. The first small cracks had begun to appear when they had started taking turns wearing the locket. For each fight and disagreement the cracks had deepened and widened. And when he had left, the fissure had turned into gap. A gap that was slowly turning into a gaping hole, from where coldness seemed to seep into her every fibre. Trying to disappear further into the blankets, Hermione tried to push him from her mind. She did not want to think of him. Of his betrayal. Of how he had just left her here. Alone.

Irritated she shifted in the chair. She wasn't alone. Harry was here. He had left her alone with him. Alone to help Harry carry his burden, to try to find solutions to all the blasted riddles, to help Harry save the world.

Shaking her head, she tried to dispel her thoughts. She knew it didn't do to dwell on these things. It was not productive. She should be reading. Slowly her eyes returned to the closed edition on the table. It was Dumbledore's biography, and she detested it. At first she had disliked it because it was so thoroughly the work of Rita Skeeter. But after reading Dumbledore's letter to Grindelwald, dislike had turned into mortification.

The Greater Good.

For days those three words had haunted her. And with them memories of what she and others had been through. But mostly she heard them spoken in a dark, velvety voice, soft, deep and stinging, seeing in her mind two dark, almost black eyes, glittering with contempt and pain.

Frustration had turned into apathy. There were enough worries to keep her thoughts occupied, but very little she could do. They had almost no food left. Harry was getting even worse. And none of them knew what to do next.

Again her eye strayed to the book on the table. She did not feel like reading it again, but neither did she feel like rereading Tales of Beedle the Bard. There was something she was missing, something Dumbledore wanted her to find. But why hadn't he just spelled it out more clearly? Told Harry what to do? Instead of sending them on this wild goose chase through every deserted part of Britain in order to find trinkets. What did he expect from them? From her? That she could simply guess his thoughts and plans from a children's book?

Exasperated Hermione reached out for the biography once more. There was something in there. Something important she hadn't found.

But before her hand reached it she stilled. Something was wrong. No, she corrected herself, not wrong. Just different. The sounds were less muffled, and something – no, someone – was here.

Panic grabbed at her. Harry had her wand. There was nothing she could do to protect herself. And then she heard it. The sound of rustling robes, and the zip in the door of the tent.

Unthinking Hermione grabbed the book and sprang from the chair, ready to hurl it at anyone who dared to enter the tent.

"You!" She sighed in relief, as she recognised the figure entering the tent. She dropped the book back on the table.

"Good day to you too, Miss Granger." Snape's replied, his eyebrow arching as he noticed the book in her hand. "Were you planning to stun me with a book, this time?"

"Harry has my wand." She replied. "How did you find us?"

"By exploiting all my Slytherin traits." He shrugged. "It is not common knowledge where you are, if that was your worry."

Hermione nodded, relieved at this. Trying to smile, she faltered, noticing how tired he looked. She remembered his haunted look when she had last seen him, but somehow he managed to look even worse. His sallow skin was almost pulled tight around his skull, his eyes sunken, framed by black patches. Even his movements seemed tired.

"You look dreadful." The words were barely audible. A short, contemptuous smile flickered across his features, giving him some resemblance of his former self.

"You hardly look peachy yourself, Granger." he replied. Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She hadn't looked in a mirror since ... she couldn't remember since when.

"What are you doing here?"

"Making sure Potter gets his hands on the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Oh. Why?"

"I was hoping you knew that, Miss Granger."

"What?" Hermione was momentarily bewildered. "Oh yes, of course I know. Does Harry have it?"

"Presumably."

"You didn't give it to him?"

"No." Snape's mouth curled into a snarl. "I did not trust Potter to welcome me with anything resembling decorum. And even though I am used to unpleasantries, I have no desire to spend more time with Potter than absolutely necessary."

Hermione swallowed. She was perfectly aware of what Snape had just said. Or, well, not said. Unable to ignore the small sting of pride, she flashed a smile at him. He merely glowered in reply.

"How are things at Hogwarts?"

"As can be expected." He replied, his face relaxing a bit at the change of subject. "Your friend Longbottom has turned out to be quite the revolutionary."

"Neville?"

"Indeed." Snape's smile was not flattering. "I had wondered whether the Sorting Hat was getting too mouldy, after Longbottom's sorting, but it seems the Gryffindor courage is setting in at least. McGonagall has been much pressed to keep him in check."

"Does she know? About you, I mean?"

"No. But I believe she suspects. And she knows that if I were replaced as a headmaster, the consequences would be worse."

"I see how it can be difficult to convince Neville of that. Or most Gryffindors I suppose."

Snape's eyes narrowed, before he replied: "How good then that you are not one of them. Or am I also frightening you, Granger?"

Hermione almost snorted. "I am a Gryffindor, sir. And Gryffindors aren't frightened."

"Self-delusion, however, they still master." Snape's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It is not a weakness to have fears."

"I know." Hermione replied with a smile. "But I am not afraid of you." She hadn't been since her third year at school where Snape had rescued her, Harry, and ... him ... from Remus-turned-werewoolf. And she wasn't now. Oddly, she felt safe. Or, at least more safe than she had since the wedding.

"Good." Snape's voice was warm now, almost a caress. Hermione wished she could disappear into it. "And I would not have it so."

For a while they stood in silence. A silence, that was welcome to Hermione. While she, Harry and ... he ... had been on the run, there had been much silence, but it had always been brooding. The conversations had been even worse. They had seemed to expect that she provide the answers and insights, had looked to her for guidance. But not Snape. At last she could talk to someone who knew what to do, someone who did not rely on her. And for the first time in months, Hermione found herself relaxing.

"And here?" Snape's voice broke the silence. "Are you any closer to your goal?"

"I don't know." She replied, desperation returning to her. "It is all so complicated. I thought Dumbledore had left Harry with a proper idea of what do do. But all we have are fragments and vague ideas. And Dumbledore left me this book with children's tales, and I simply don't know what to do."

Hermione looked up at Snape, expecting to see disdain or contempt. But his face was a blank mask, only his eyes were narrowed. Overwhelmed suddenly by all her feelings, she continued her tirade: "And they just expect me to find the answer. To provide solutions when there is no food, to find places where we can hide, and to cast all the protective spells. Now we even need to share my wand."

Blinking tears away from her eyes, she sobered for a moment. "I mean ... I want to fight him. I want Harry to defeat him. And want to help. It just feels so hopeless sometimes. And Harry has been so close to giving up, I must be strong for both of us. I simply don't know how much longer I can cope."

Again she looked up, meeting Snape's gaze. His face was still unreadable, but there was something close to warmth in his eyes. And more importantly, there was understanding.

"You can go on as long as you must." he replied, his voice soothing. "Giving in to hopelessness can be tempting. But I have always found it best not to dwell on the prospects. Focus on the task at hand, on what must be done. Prospects are subject to change, and hold little value in the present."

Hemione nodded and felt her despair getting weaker. He knew. He understood. His position was even worse than hers, and he did not give up. Fuelled by this, Hermione's pride spoke up. If Snape, the lonely bat of the dungeon could keep up the fight, Snape who was despised by every Order member, apart from her, then she could too. She, who had friends.

"Yes. Thank you." She replied, gifting her professor with a rare smile. "It just gets lonely sometimes. Even with Harry. He is fighting his own battles, and I can hardly burden him with mine. It was selfish to burden you."

"No." Snape's eyes had hardened again. "If you allow yourself to wallow in self pity, you cannot concentrate on helping Potter. And, since he has not yet blundered his way into a Death Eater attack, you seem to be doing fine. Doing what you must to help Potter is not selfish."

Hermione nodded again.

"I have little time left, before your charges return." Snape's voice had gone cold again.

"Charges?"

"Yes. Dunderheads they may be, but I don't expect even Potter and Weasley to take more than a few minutes to get the sword out of the lake."

"Weasley?" Hermione's voice was barely more than a breath. "Ron was there?"

"Yes. Shouldn't he be?"

"I don't know." Hermione stuttered. "He left us some time ago..."

"Left?" The ice in his voice made Hermione shiver. And instantly she knew she had been wrong about not fearing him. He was the scariest person she had ever known. At least at times.

"Yes. He was under a lot of strain and..." Why am I defending him? She thought, flinching as she met Snape's eyes.

"How very Gryffindor of him." he spat. "Well, he is back now, probably expecting to be celebrated as a returning hero. He probably has been through quite some ... tormenting experiences while you were ... camping." His sarcasm was so bitter, it stung even Hermione. "Though I am intrigued to find out how he has managed to find you, given his inability to think for himself. If you ever find out, please tell me."

Hermione did not answer. She simply stared at Snape in shock, frightened of the sudden transformation. Gone was understanding, and replaced by the cruellest look of disgust she had ever witnessed.

Breathing in audibly, Snape seemed to steel himself, and his face became as unreadable as ever.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Granger."

"Yes, of course. Anything." she replied, relieved that he was back to his normal self.

"Anything?" The honey in his voice combined with his smirk made her shrink back. "Be careful what words you choose, Miss Granger. I am a Slytherin, after all."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't think."

"Well, you had better learn it soon." The smirk vanished slowly. "But, as to the favour you have now promised to do for me:" Hermione swallowed. "I must speak to Potter before the end."

"Now?"

"No, not yet. Right before the end. It is very important that I talk to him before his final confrontation with the Dark Lord."

"I understand. I will do my best."

"You must do more than that." Snape narrowed his eyes, as if considering something. "Do you know about the Pensieve?"

"Yes."

"And do you know how to store memories for the Pensieve?"

"Well, I have never tried it, but I've read about it in..." Snape's glare cut her short.

"I will show you a spell." And producing his wand with impressive speed he did. "Can you remember it?" Hermione nodded. "Good. Now only one thing remains."

Snape's eyes bored into hers, and once again Hermione felt as if was able to look into her soul.

"Do you trust me?" It was no more than a whisper.

"Yes." She said it without thinking. Because she did not need to. She trusted him, and knew that she would do anything he asked of her. She knew at that moment that she should be afraid or on guard, but she wasn't. Here finally was someone who knew what to do. Someone who could guide her, help her do what was necessary.

"In case I should be ... incapable ... of providing Harry with the information, I can impart some of my memories to you. They will only be activated in case I should die, but I must ensure that Harry receives this information." Again she nodded. "Come closer."

On shaking knees she stepped forward, letting his presence wrap around her like a soothing embrace. For a moment she felt safe and protected, shielded from her despair and fears, from the war outside. She felt his fingers lightly touch her right cheek, temple and forehead, and heard the incantation spoken softly with his deep baritone voice. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the moment, feeling his presence, letting it dispel her loneliness.

Gradually she felt his memories enter her mind. Though she could not see them, she felt their presence. It was a strange feeling, not unpleasant, but as if there was a memory that eluded her, something important she could not remember.

As his fingers left her skin, cold air brushed against the five small areas where they had been, making them tingle. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw that he was almost at the door, his back to her.

"Professor?" He stopped, but did not turn. "Will you do me a favour?"

"You still owe me one, Miss Granger." His voice seemed strangled. "Do you think it wise to owe me another?"

"I don't know." She paused. "Just please, stay alive?"

He turned, his glare so cold and intimidating it made her shrink back, his lips curling into a cruel snarl. "I have stayed alive so far, and have no plans to the contrary, Miss Granger. But be assured it is not out of any courtesy to you."

And with a final rustling of robes he was gone. Shivering from the sudden cold she felt, Hermione staggered back to the chair, pulling the blankets tightly around her. Perhaps it was the combination of the unexpectedness of his visit and the relief at hearing of Ron's return, Hermione later mused, that made her feel the loneliness so intently.

But a snide voice, she cunningly ignored, did not agree. At unguarded moments it would whisper to her of a touch that made her feel safe, of eyes that showed understanding, and of someone who had not left her due to dire prospects. Shaking her head, she would push the thoughts away, and commend Ron for returning. Realising one's mistake and trying to right the wrongs was commendable. And really, she could hardly blame him. She had been so close to doing the same. But only close, the snide voice would add.

Snape had long since given up on pacing in Dumbledore's office. It had only ever resulted in the portraits meddling in his affairs, which led only to further irritation.

In truth, whenever he really needed to think, he tended to return to his own office. After all, most of his plans had been developed there. And try as he might, he would never consider this office his. It was Dumbledore's, and always would be. Until, perhaps, McGonagall would take over. But he was the headmaster now, and thus required to use this office. His personal tastes hardly mattered in this. They rarely did.

Instead of pacing, he had taken to brooding in one of the chairs in front of the fire. It was a fine compromise: he was still in the Headmaster's office, but hidden from view from Dumbledore's portrait. Apart from all those occasions where Dumbledore had insisted on visiting the pretty landscape hung over the firepiece, that is. But not tonight. Tonight Dumledore was feigning sleep in his portrait, and Snape was merciful that he had escaped those blue eyes for a few hours. How Dumbledore managed to make his eyes twinkle even in death, Snape would never understand.

He did not fail to notice the change in the fire, as the flames and coals gradually transformed into the features of Lucius Malfoy. Nor did he fail to notice that some of the smugness had returned to his features. He still looked defeated and worn, but there was a gleam in his eyes Snape had not seen for years. A gleam, that filled Snape with a sense of foreboding.

"Severus?" Lucius' hoarse voice spoke through the flames. Snape adjusted his seat and looked fully at the face in the fire.

"Lucius." He drawled. "I have little time to chat."

"I have good news, Severus." Even the eagerness in Lucius' voice could not conceal the tinge of despair. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Then surely you should be telling the Dark Lord of these, and not me."

"Well, yes, I will." The uncertainty was unmistakable now. "But there are slight complications, and I thought..."

"You thought I would be able to smooth things over?" Snape completed the sentence, his voice smooth as silk. "Well. Tell me, and we will see what I can do."

"We may have Potter."

"You may have him?" Snape's eyebrow rose even further. "I should think one either has Potter or one hasn't. So which is it?"

"We are not sure it is him. He was brought in earlier."

"Not sure? Has been given to you in the form of a jigsaw puzzle?"

"He looks different, and Draco is not sure he recognises him. But he was accompanied by a Weasley and that Mudblood friend of his."

"Granger."

"Yes." Lucius seemed about to speak, but didn't.

"Congratulations, Lucius. The Dark Lord may yet realise what good and loyal servants you and your family are." He added a contemptuous smile. "But you still seem to have some concerns?"

"Yes." Lucius swallowed. "They had the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Impossible."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Snape sighed with irritation. "I believe your charming Sister-In-Law is storing it at Gringotts, is she not?" Lucius nodded "And Gringotts has not been broken into. The sword is safe. What your captives most likely carry is a fake."

"Are you certain the sword Bella has is not a fake?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"No, of course not." Lucius reply came promptly. "But how can it be verified."

"Only Goblins would know." Snape hoped that they did not have the time to leave for Gringotts. His mind was racing to try to find a solution that would not blow his cover.

"Ah good. We happen to have one at hand. I shall ask him then."

"And what of identifying the Boy Who Might Be Potter?"

"Oh, we'll have the Mudblood do that." The smile on Lucius face made Snape's stomach turn. Azkaban had not agreed with him. "Bella is looking forward to it already."

"Spare your strengths. It is unlikely she can tell you much."

"Oh? Wasn't she hailed as one of the brightest witches?"

"Hardly." Snape snorted. "She was never very accomplished at independent thinking, Lucius. You know full well what I think of her ... qualities."

"Well, but she is still one of Potters closest allies. She must know of his plans."

"Must she?" Snape allowed himself an amused smile. "Why, Lucius? Do you tell Narcissa about all your plans and adventures? Do not get your hopes high."

"If I did not know you better, dear friend, I'd say you were protecting the little Mudblood." An amused smile played around Lucius lips. Snape had to beat the urge to punch him.

"I am protecting you, my friend." Snape's voice did not betray any emotion. "If all you have found are Potter's erstwhile companions and no trace of the boy himself, our Lord will not be pleased. Do with them what you like, but do not get your hopes of redemption up."

"You are right." Lucius drew a deep breath. "How long do we have until he returns?"

"Another day, perhaps." Snape shrugged. "If needed, I may be able to keep him occupied for another one. Shall I come by the manor later?"

"Not necessary. I am certain you have enough on your plate already." Lucius saluted him once, and gradually his face left the flames.

Snape cursed.

Ignoring the muttering from the portraits on the wall he began pacing. He had to do something fast. If they had Granger, they also had Potter and the true Sword of Gryffindor. This was bad.

"You seem upset, Severus?" the jovial voice of Albus Dumbledore cut through his musings.

"I assume you heard what Lucius had to say?" Snape glanced up at the portrait of the former Headmaster.

"Naturally" Dumbledore replied. At least his eyes weren't twinkling, Snape noticed. "But it was to be expected."

"I will have to get them out of there." Snape sighed.

"No." Dumledore graced him with a rueful smile. "You cannot blow your cover, Severus. Too much depends on you."

Incredulously he stared at the portrait. Had the old man not heard?

"They will torture her." He sneered.

"Hermione Granger?" Albus inquired.

"Yes, Miss Granger!" Snape hissed. "Bellatrix will crucio the poor girl so badly, she will be wishing she was dead."

Dumbledore merely cocked an eyebrow over his half-moon bespectacled eyes. "We all have to make sacrifices, Severus."

"Sacrifices?" Severus spat. "Hasn't she suffered enough, already? If Bellatrix has her way with her, there will be nothing left of her. I have seen what that monster is capable of. I hardly need remind you of the Longbottoms, do I? Or is their madness just another sacrifice for the greater good?"

"Calm yourself, Severus." Dumbledore at least had the courtesy not to chuckle, though his gleaming eyes betrayed some mirth. "Since I seem to know you a lot better than Lucius does, I am quite convinced that you have begun caring about the young Know-It-All."

"Care about her?" Snape had stopped dead in his track. Care? He didn't particularly care about the Granger girl. She was useful. And kind. Desperate as he was, he would take kindness wherever he could find it, he knew that very well. Finding it in the shape of Hermione Granger was better than finding it in the form of a Acromantula, he would even agree to that. But care? He sighed. "She is my student, Albus. I have a certain responsibility to her welfare. And she is vital to Potter."

"If you say so, Severus." This time Dumbledore did not conceal his chuckle. "However I am quite certain that you underestimate her strength. She is not so fragile as you think."

"However strong she may be, she does not deserve to be tortured by Bellatrix. No one does."

"Oh, but we quite agree." Dumbledore beamed a smile at his successor. "We will need to find someone who can enter the manor. Someone, who is not you, I must add."

"Malfoy's old house elf." Severus replied.

"Ah yes, naturally. What a good idea." Dumbledore rose from his portrait. "I shall pay my sister a visit then. Perhaps she knows where Dobby is."

Snape looked after Dumbledore as he made his way through the portraits. Turning, he headed out the door. He needed privacy.

No one stopped him on his way to his dungeon. His scowl made sure of that. Once in his office, he poured himself a generous measure of firewhiskey.

Sacrifice? He sometimes wondered who was worse, the Dark Lord with his pure-blood supremacy, or Dumbledore with his ideological nonsense about the greater good and love. Downing the whisky in one gulp, he straightened, and stared into the flames in the fireplace.

He did hope she would not suffer. Was that caring? Hardly. He had seen her frailty as he had imparted some of his own memories to her. She had been so desperate, so easy to lure. He had often wondered what would have happened, had he been a loyal Death Eater. She was not unattractive. And, he had to admit, seemed not entirely impossible to corrupt.

A smirk appeared around his lips. As the Slytherin he was, he knew about corruption. Also the corruption of young women. There may not have been many of his students he had deemed interesting enough to invest his time and efforts in, but it had happened a few times. Slytherins look after their own, after all. (And the odd Ravenclaw, he added.)

He recalled their last meeting. How gladly she had relinquished to his leadership. It had been much easier than he expected. She had looked so blissful, so relaxed as he had touched her. Annoyed, he felt his loins stir at the memory of her face, eyes closed in some desperate hunger for company.

He sighed. This would not do. He did not have the time to be distracted by an annoying Gryffindor Know-It-All. Striding towards the door, he flung it open and prowled the hallway. It did not take long before he found what he was searching for. Miss Greengrass followed him, unbuttoning her shirt as soon as he closed the door to his study. Yes, he had corrupted some students during his time. It kept him from going insane. All just another sacrifice for the greater good, Snape mused with a smirk.

Bending her over his desk, he thrust into her from behind, revelling in her moan. But it did not take long before he paid little attention to her pleasure, ploughing into to her with abandon. He felt her clenching around him, vaguely registered her moans and spasms as she came, while thrusting in and out of her. In his mind, all he saw were two brown eyes, filled with compassion and admiration, and a fragile face. He was still imagining her, as he emptied himself in his student. Merlin's balls, he disgusted himself sometimes.

Annoyed he sent Miss Greengrass away, downing another measure of firewhiskey. He would get Miss Granger out of his mind, of that he was certain. But it took more effort than he liked to admit.