Polyjuiced!

When she woke again, it was marginally lighter in the room -- must be daytime, then. She felt better; it now seemed like she had only gone five rounds with a Hungarian Horntail instead of twenty. The pain in her joints and tendons had eased, but when she tried to prop herself up on her elbows, she fell back onto the pillow with a suppressed oath. Her muscles still were not cooperating.

Snape must have put up motion detection wards, since the door to her room opened only a moment later.

"Miss Granger."

She eyed him warily, getting a good look at him for the first time. At first glance, he didn't seem to have changed much - the same black hair, black robes, black eyes. At second glance, the lines on his face had grown deeper. He looked like he had lost weight, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, as if he wasn't sleeping well. Maybe some last crumbling vestiges of conscience were still alive. Maybe that was why she wasn't dead right now.

"Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly.

She could hear her stomach rumbling even as he asked. Cautiously, she nodded, not knowing what to make of his behavior. What was he doing? Why was he helping her?

He left, only to return a few minutes later with a bowl of steaming porridge. Setting it down on her bedside table, he turned to her. "Can you sit up?"

She tried. Gosh, how she tried. She hated for him to realize how weak she still was, but as soon as she attempted to pull herself up, the muscles in her upper arms started shaking so hard that she had to give up the attempt. Damn.

Without saying a word, he slid his arm around her shoulders, then pulled her up while rearranging the pillows behind her back with his other hand, settling her comfortably into a half-raised position. Sitting down on the chair next to her bed, he matter-of-factly dipped the spoon into the porridge, bringing it to her mouth. "Eat."

She needed to eat if she wanted to get stronger. Not eating would have been stupid. She wasn't stupid. But, oh Merlin. Snape. With tears of humiliation in her eyes, refusing to look at him, she opened her mouth, her head filled with ugly thoughts.

She didn't want his help. She was an Auror, for crying out loud. She had had these visions of being the one to hunt him down, to bring him to justice. Wouldn't that have looked good on her resumé. Instead, Severus Snape, Death Eater, was now leaning over her, feeding her as if she were a baby. Every bite tasted bitter.

When the bowl was empty, he leaned back in his chair. "You will have questions, I suppose," he said awkwardly. "I should explain."

"Oh, please do," she said cynically. This should be good. What kind of tale would he spin her?

"Last night, when I arrived, after - he - summoned me, you were already unconscious. You were captured during a raid, apparently?"

"Yes. We had received word -- I'm an Auror now...well, an Auror-in-training," she amended defiantly, as a disparaging sneer starting to curl the corner of his mouth. "Anyway, we had received word that an attack was in progress on the home of a Muggle-born witch. I got separated from the main group...then I got Stunned...." The memory stung. It had been a stupid mistake on her part, and it should have got her killed.

But why was she telling him this at all? He was supposed to be the one doing the talking.

It was, she thought bitterly, a return to old patterns. Apparently, nothing had changed. He'd ask a question, and she'd fall all over herself trying to answer him, trying to impress him. During her school years, a sentence of approval from Professor Snape was her Holy Grail - as longed for, and as out of reach. All she had ever got was his trademark sneer. Well, at least this time, he'd have ample reason to sneer. She had been stupid. He'd enjoy this.

Except he didn't sneer. He just looked...tired.

"As you may imagine, I had limited options to effect your safety. I...persuaded the Dark Lord that I had a personal score to settle with Harry Potter's little Mudblood friend." His face hardened when he saw her flare up at the word. "It was the only way I could safely remove you from the situation. To ask for you as a personal boon." He continued in a softer voice, almost as if to himself, "Dumbledore was right about that, at least -- as his killer, I have privileges with the Dark Lord that others of his followers can only dream of." He smiled sourly, bitterly as he looked at her again. "He did order me to dispose of you once I was through with you."

There had been fear lurking as a constant at the back of her mind, here alone with him, at his mercy, but now it rolled forward in waves, threatening to overwhelm her. What did he mean? Was he going to...? Is that why he was trying to get her healthier? Because he didn't enjoy... because he wanted...? The cold fear and repulsion must have shown in her eyes, because he gave a hoarse, harsh laugh.

"Good god, Granger, I have not fallen so far as to take pleasure in...violating a former student. Your virtue is in no danger from me. As I promised -- I will not harm you."

"Then what do you want?" she whispered.

"Nothing." He looked at her, a hard expression on his face. "The only thing I want is for you to leave. But there are...complications."

Complications? And it sounded like he actually wanted to let her go? And what had he said about Dumbledore earlier? And why not just let Voldemort kill her? Her mind was swirling with confused thoughts. None of this made any sense. None in the least.

He wearily rubbed his eyes. "It's a long story. I sincerely wish it hadn't become necessary to tell it, but under the circumstances, it is the only way you will understand."

Rising from his chair, he walked over to the window, looking out through a crack in the shutters as he began to recount what had happened.

In carefully controlled tones, he began to tell her his story. Of the Unbreakable Vow. Of finding out exactly what he had sworn to do. Of Dumbledore's insistence he follow through. Of, in the end, having to obey the old man's command, as he arrived on top of the Tower and saw that there were no better options left. Of being Dumbledore's man at the Dark Lord's side ever since -- the source of the information Minerva had claimed came from some mysterious source in the Department of Mysteries, information that had saved countless lives and led to the capture of several Death Eaters.

When he had finished telling the tale, there was silence for a moment. He stood by the window, his back ramrod straight, and Hermione lay under the covers, feeling shivery and cold inside.

The story he had told her made sense. It explained all the little inconsistencies that had niggled at the back of her mind ever since Harry had told her of Snape's treacherous deed. She had refused to believe that Dumbledore could have been taken in so easily, that he would have been so much of a fool, but the hard evidence staring her in the face said otherwise. Now it appeared that, as usual, Harry's information had only covered part of the truth.

For the first time, she really looked at the man in front of her, saw him as a person. Until now, he had fitted into neat mental boxes, easily classified. First he had been the stern, sour, sarcastic teacher, the black-robed specter who sneered at their substandard potions and delighted in doling out detentions. Feared, respected, disliked. Then he had been the criminal, Dark wizard, follower of Voldemort, a stock villain. But now... She didn't know what to make of him. What he had said had left her mind struggling, protesting, and trying to keep up, as over the course of his story her view of him took a slow, arduous 180-degree turn.

All this time, Snape had been on their side. All this time, the only thing of which he had been guilty was the fact that he had been a little too clever for his own good, making a mistake that had led straight into the Unbreakable Vow. After that, it had been out of his hands. Unlike Harry's story, this fitted. Fitted with what she thought she had known about Dumbledore, and fitted with what she had thought she had known about Snape. And he had nothing to gain by telling her, and everything to lose. If Voldemort should ever find out... Another shiver ran over her. The mere fact that he had not killed her as ordered would probably be enough to cost him his life.

Dumbledore had always been so adamant in his trust for Snape, so zealous to see him treated with respect... When she had heard the raw, ragged edge creep into Snape's voice as he told her about Dumbledore's death, she had for the first time understood that Snape had cared deeply about the old man.

To kill him, to then live the life of an outcast, despised by every one of his former colleagues and compatriots as well as the entire wizarding world, a price on his head.... He had only sketched in the barest details for her, but she could see the empty, lonely spaces between the lines.

"So only Professor McGonagall knows?" she said, feeling unbidden tears rise in her eyes. She rigorously swallowed them away. His prickly pride would not appreciate an outpouring of compassion.

He cast a swift glance in her direction. "And now you." He didn't sound as if he were at all happy about the fact.

Why should he be? With sudden clarity, she understood the predicament they both were in.

"I can't return to the Order, can I?" she said quietly. "If Voldemort finds out..." So that was why he hadn't simply Apparated her to St. Mungo's or the front door of Headquarters -- he could not afford to have her seen alive.

Snape nodded. "And he would find out, sooner rather than later. I believe you know that there is a leak in the Order?"

Hermione nodded. Yes, she knew that. After one of their moles in the Ministry had been exposed, and Remus Lupin had found his house ransacked after returning from a mission, McGonagall had strongly cautioned her and Harry to watch whom they talked to, and had adopted Voldemort's strategy of not telling anyone the whole plan, of keeping some things for a carefully chosen inner circle instead of announcing them at the full Order meetings. "You do not know...?"

He shook his head. "My best efforts at uncovering who the traitor is have been unsuccessful."

"So I will have to stay here? Indefinitely?" She couldn't quite keep the dismay out of her voice.

"No." He gave her a calculating glance. "I sent a Patronus to Minerva, and she agrees. If you are willing to cooperate, there is a solution."

She looked at him questioningly. "And that is...?"

"Polyjuice. Minerva has been claiming that the information I have given her over the last two years came from a contact in the Department of Mysteries, an Unspeakable with connections. You could rejoin the Order under a false identity. "

"Wouldn't people be suspicious of a new Order member?"

Snape shook his head. "The Fidelius Charm will not be fooled by the potion. You will still be able to enter Headquarters, as only those who have been told its location directly by Dumbledore can, and the Order will have to accept you. And Minerva will vouch for you. As far as the practical implications..." With a sigh, he interrupted himself. "You need to rest. It is of no use talking about this any further until you have recovered sufficiently." He stood up. "I shall let you sleep now."

As Snape left the room, Hermione, sore and bone-tired, closed her eyes, trying to somehow make sense of things. On the surface, his plan seemed feasible. The Order's inner circle still met at Grimmauld Place, though the general meetings now took place on an outlying farm spread in Devonshire -- since Dumbledore's death, no new members had been able to find the Black residence. The fact that she could still enter the residence... She yawned as her brain grew fuzzy with exhaustion, slowly letting go of rational thought. It was sad to think that when the last of the present Order members died, the house would simply disappear into distant memory, never to be found again... Her mind whirled with blurry, half-formed thoughts, of a suddenly changed past, an unexpected present, and an uncertain future; whirled with blurry, half-dreamed pictures of the gloomy old house, of Dumbledore, of Snape; and with an ache in her chest, she fell asleep.