Severus Snape squinted against the chilly Northern wind and tightened his grip on both brooms with steadily numbing fingers. It was the dead of night, and they would soon be approaching mountain territory. He needed to focus every bit of his concentration on what was in front of him.
His jaw clenched against a pounding headache. One brought on by the fact that he hadn't slept in three days. Or because his nose was still only partially mended. Or both. They were equally uncomfortable.
The moon was barely a sliver in the sky. Instead, the starlight, unhindered by clouds, provided ample light to see the breathtaking scenery below. An enormous lake shimmered hundreds of feet beneath their feet, cocooned by a thick barrier of trees that rustled in slow, elegant waves. The mountains loomed ahead, dark silhouettes on the horizon and capped in white snow that glowed beneath the starlight like celestial beacons, guiding him through the night. Severus had neither the energy nor the effort to appreciate the scenery; all his concentration was focused on the task at hand... not the warm little arms currently wrapped around his waist.
Severus shifted uncomfortably. Repulsive nuisance of a girl, he thought venomously. Seventeen years old, and can't fly a broom. Disgraceful.
Carefully, Severus pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket and studied the rough map that Tonks, or someone equally as incompetent, had drawn for him. The longitude and latitude of the cottage they were headed towards had been written on the bottom left corner of the map.
Severus cast an appraising eye over their current position. By his calculations, they were probably less than an hour away. Which was fortunate, because the moon was already nearing the end of its arc.
Granger shifted the side of her head closer against Severus's rib cage, and it was then that Severus noticed his body felt uncomfortably warm. Severus chanced a glance down to see whether or not the girl had fallen asleep, but her face was hidden by that pesky mass of curly brown...
Severus let out a small gasp and released the broom handle in surprise. Her hair was back. Without any guiding energy to keep it aloft, Granger's Cleansweep plummeted, taking her right down along with it. Clearly, Granger had not been asleep, because the instant she felt she was falling, she let out an unearthly shriek of terror, flailing her limbs about and subsequently unseating herself from her already precarious position atop the broom.
"Bloody hell!" Severus cursed and threw his broom into an almost vertical dive, the wind howling in his ears as he plummeted after Granger's receding figure. He met her in mid-air, wrapped a firm arm around her waist, and pulled hard out of the dive as the treetops rushed to meet them. They were going too fast. The broom wouldn't slow in time. Severus shielded his face with his one free arm as they crashed into the branches of an enormous pine tree.
Surprisingly, they tumbled to the ground relatively unscathed. A few bruises and scratched faces later, they hit the last branch and dropping to the pine-covered ground with a soft thud. Severus grunted in pain as he broke their fall. He had landed on his back, while Granger lay splayed on top of him, her arms wrapped in a tight grip around his neck.
"What... did I say... about screaming," Severus choked, as he sat up and tried in vain to pry Granger's arms apart.
Granger was in near hysterics. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my–"
"Articulate as always, I see—and for Merlin's sake, would you let go!"
Granger still did not comply. "Why did you drop me? I can't believe you dropped me! How could you possibly have—" Granger shrieked again as a long lock of frizzy brown hair fell across her face.
"Stop making so much noise," Severus hissed.
"My, my hair is back - But how did... How did that happen?"
Granger finally released her arms as she reached up to feel her head.
Severus took the opportunity to promptly shove her off. "By magic, I assume! And how dare you defy me, how dare you use your wand to—"
Granger looked incredulous. "I didn't use my wand."
Snape was silent then, momentarily thrown off by her answer. He looked deep into her eyes, probing about in her mind in an attempt to confirm that what she was saying was true. "How did you do it, then?"
Her mouth trembled. "I... I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean, I didn't do it on purpose. I guess I was thinking about it a little. My hair, I mean. I was sort of wishing it was, you know, back to normal. But I swear I didn't mean to do magic! Honestly, I didn't even know I could do that."
Severus finally eased onto his feet, dusting the dirt and pine needles off his shirt as he did so. Then he reached up and jerked the broom from where it was still dangling halfway out of the tree. "If you wish it hard enough, you will find that there are, indeed, plenty of spells you can do without a wand, Miss Granger. The fact that you obsess over your hair enough to actually change it back only proves how misplaced your worries really are." He sneered. "Anyway, it's done," he growled. "And I suppose it won't do any harm, now that we are no longer in the presence of Muggles." Severus inspected the broom in his hands, and, finding nothing extraordinarily wrong with it (though there wasn't much light to see by), he mounted. He waited for her to say something, but Granger simply stood there, staring back at him like a complete dolt. "Well, get on," he growled.
"Where's my broom?" she asked quietly.
Severus felt his insides ignite with anger. The nerve! He had just risked his very well-being to save her life, and here she was whining on about her sodding broom. "I don't see it anywhere, do you?" he snapped waspishly. "I find that I grow very tired of your constant complaining. We are less than an hour away from our destination, so I'll thank you to shut up and do as you're told. Now, get on the broom."
Thankfully, that seemed to set her straight and Granger closed her mouth with an audible snap. It seemed that all he had to do was crack the whip a bit, and she followed orders without a second thought.
Severus turned his eyes towards the white-speckled sky as Granger slid onto the broom behind him, her warmth seeming to burn like the sun against his back. And, as those bony little arms once again wrapped firmly around his middle, Severus felt the familiar feeling of discomfort begin to well up in his gut. Noisy nuisance of a girl…
"Sirius!" Hermione raced up the path towards the smiling figure in the doorway of the tiny cottage, waving jovially as the man laughed aloud in return.
"Hermione, you made it." Sirius put his hand on her shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "Glad to see you're alright." His eyes traveled up and down her body and he whistled. "You look terrible. What've you been doing? What are all those scratches from?" Then he looked up and saw Snape's approaching silhouette. "And what happened to the other broom?"
"Long story," she replied hastily. "What are you doing here? I mean, it's wonderful to see you, but–"
"Might we move this touching reunion inside," Snape drawled, marching his way directly between the two of them and promptly knocking Sirius's hand off Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione suddenly felt oddly cold without the contact, and opened her mouth for a bitter retort, but Sirius wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she let it die in her throat. Hermione looked up at Sirius, who rolled his eyes at Snape. Then he stepped aside to usher her through the doorway. "I'll tell you what you need to know, Hermione. Let's just get out of the cold, shall we?" He flashed another smile, and Hermione was suddenly overcome by how pleasant it was to be around a man with at least some semblance of manners again.
Sirius flicked on the lights as they entered. "I know it's late – er, early – but let's start with a tour…"
The place Dumbledore had found them was apparently a summer home that once belonged to Professor McGonagall's late half-sister, Elda Pruitt. Elda had married a Muggle man, so a lot of the appliances and power systems operated much like a Muggle home. They had a generator for electricity, a well for water, and even a plumbing system.
However, Elda had clearly done her share of magic-working, because, aside from the cottage being unplottable, it was also much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. In fact, it was so big, that by the time Sirius had finished showing them just the first floor, Hermione was swaying on her feet and quietly requested directions to the nearest shower and bed.
It took a moment for Sirius to lead her in the right direction, because he had only just arrived at the cottage a day ago himself, and had yet to memorize its extensive layout.
As for why Sirius was there, the answer was plain and simple: Dumbledore did not want him at Hogwarts anymore. Well, perhaps that could be rephrased. Dumbledore did not thing it was a good idea for Sirius to be at Hogwarts anymore. He was still a runaway convict after all, and the chances of him being found out were far too great a risk to continue letting him run around Hogsmeade – albeit in dog form.
Hermione didn't mind though, she was grateful that Sirius was around. She had always liked him (well not always), but now she felt a particular sort of bond with him. She knew now what it was like to be on the run and separated from family and friends. Though she was at least spared the horror of being accused of murder. Because even though his survival had caused all this trouble, Hermione was glad that Turnus had escaped before Snape could kill him. She did not like the idea of being the direct cause of another person's murder — Death Eater though he was.
She also did not want to be the cause of Snape committing murder. She respected his power, and hesitantly forgave him for the dark things he had done in his past—what she knew of, at least—but she was not entirely sure that she would be able to handle watching him display either right in front of her like that.
At last, Sirius led Hermione into a cozy little bedroom with a queen-size bed and periwinkle drapes. Snape's room was across and down the hall, and Sirius's bedroom was right next door. Sirius apologized that they would have to share a community bathroom, but Hermione didn't mind — just as long as there was an anvil-sized lock on the door.
Hermione felt loads better after her shower, thankful to at last have all the twigs and leaves out of her hair. Sirius had given her a pile of clothing for her to choose from that he said he had found in some drawers and must have once belonged to Elda. Hermione cringed as she fingered the decrepit, moth-ridden robes. No thank you, she thought determinedly. Fuzzy purple collars and lime green polka dots were not exactly her style. No wonder McGonagall never talked about poor old Elda. She seemed to represent everything of which the uptight Gryffindor Head did not approve.
Hermione snooped through the variously patterned and questionably colored robes before finally finding something along the lines of a nightgown that was an acceptably subdued shade of puce. She took a moment to check for spiders, and, finding none, pulled it over her head.
Her room, she found, was quite cozy. The bed was warm and soft, and there was a beautiful floor to ceiling window that opened onto a balcony overlooking what appeared to be a patio and small garden (she was on the second floor). The sun was just peeking out between the distant mountains as she crawled into bed, and it bathed the room in a warm golden light.
As she snuggled into the sheets, Hermione took a quick moment to look around and appraise the rest of her surroundings: an enormous vanity with a wide mirror, a book shelf that contained a small library of trashy Muggle romance novels (with a big cozy chair to read them in), an intimidatingly large oak wardrobe that Hermione did not even dare open for fear of what might be living inside, and more pillows than she had ever seen in her entire life (all various shades of blue to match the drapes, of course). None of these things seemed particularly useful to Hermione, but she felt comforted by their presence all the same.
With all the thoughts and fears rattling around in her head, Hermione felt sure that she would never get a wink of sleep. But the second her head sunk into the downy pillow, she was out like a light.
It was the dead of night and Hermione was lost somewhere on the first floor in search of stairs. She paused as she saw a light on behind a pair of double doors, and she crept silently over to investigate.
Upon opening the doors, she found an enormous study, every wall filled to exploding with books. There were huge plush armchairs by the fireplace, two sofas, a lovely little writing desk on the far wall, and a beautiful Persian rug underfoot. It took a moment before she realized that the room was occupied. Professor Snape, in all his dark and brooding glory, sat in one of the chairs by the fire, his eyes fixed upon the pages of a very large book.
Without saying a word, Hermione padded silently across the carpet and came to a stop directly in front of Snape. Perhaps irritated by the shadow that now intruded upon his reading light, Snape looked up and found Hermione staring at him avidly.
The firelight danced in the reflection of his dark eyes as he returned Hermione's stare over the spine of his book. Hermione stared right back, her head beginning to buzz faintly with adrenaline, her breathing shallow. What was she supposed to say now? Why had she even come in here?
Snape made no move to lower his book or engage her in any sort of conversation — he simply sat there and looked at her. But while his face remained as stony and impassive as ever, his eyes were alive with something strange, hard to place, and yet very exciting all the same. It felt as though a current of electricity were sifting through the air, causing the fine hairs on Hermione's arms to stand on end and her skin to prickle and tingle in the most delightful way.
The golden lock of hair at Snape's temple fell askew against his cheek and Hermione was overcome with the strange desire to reach out and brush it aside.
Just as her hand began to move, Snape turned his eyes back to the pages in front of him and he appeared to instantly forget all about her and whatever sort of moment she thought they were sharing.
Normally, this would not have bothered Hermione all that much, as she had grown used to this sort of behavior. But she must have been on her last nerve, because, quite suddenly, something seemed to explode within Hermione's chest. She reached out, ripped the book from Snape's hands. Then, with a flick of her arm, she threw the book straight into the fire. Snape's eyes were wide with surprise, his body stilled, even paralyzed, with shock. Before she even knew what she was doing, before Snape could say a word or even react in any way, Hermione wrapped her hands around his wrists and pinned them firmly to the armrests.
She leaned towards him. "Do not ignore me," she whispered breathlessly into his ear, her every limb trembling with disbelief at what she was doing.
Snape's arms tensed beneath her grasp, but he did not struggle.
Hermione looked deep into his stormy eyes and leaned down towards him until her lips were mere inches away from his. She could feel his warm breath against her chin. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw slack as he fought against his disbelief. Hermione knew this was her best chance to press her advantage. With a now-or-never resolve, she moved in to finally close that distance between them. To finally, finally, finally steal that kiss that she had been wanting for so long. Her heart fluttered wildly in chest, her stomach knotted with anticipation; she was so close to getting what she wanted, so close to knowing what he tasted like, so close to at last being able to–
Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of banging pots and running sink water. The air smelled of food. Burned food.
With a frustrated sigh, Hermione stretched and peeled back the warmth of her comforter. It would figure that the first good dream she'd had in weeks would be interrupted at precisely the worst moment.
Hermione swept aside her periwinkle drapes and squinted against the sunlight. It must have been at least late afternoon, and with a squeak, Hermione rushed to get dressed.
Dubious of being seen in her moth-eaten nightgown, Hermione hunted through a dresser next to the wardrobe until she found a small stash of Muggle clothing. They were mostly old-fashioned things, nowhere near her customary blue jeans and jumper, but she finally found a nice rose-colored sundress with a heart-shaped neckline that was relatively her size.
After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and smooth her hair (which she was horrified to notice was a whole shade lighter than it had been before), she finally made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
She walked in through the enormous double doors just in time to see Sirius dumping the remains of two charred pieces of bacon into the bin.
He looked up as she entered and gave her a cheery smile. "Morning, Hermione — I see you were able to find something a bit more fashionable than I was, well done." He walked over and opened a window above the sink. "I would offer you breakfast, but I'm a bloody awful cook – as I'm sure you've noticed by now. Sorry about the smoke."
Hermione laughed. "That's alright. I'm not great myself, but I would be happy to make a go of it, if you can tell me where everything is."
"Certainly." Sirius stepped aside and made a dramatic gesture of welcoming her into the kitchen.
"And, um…" Hermione paused awkwardly. "I was wondering if you could… er… fill me in, I suppose, on what exactly is supposed to happen now. I confess I don't quite know how to handle all of..." She gestured helplessly. "This."
Sirius chuckled as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "Been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn't it?"
Hermione nodded emphatically.
"Wish I had an explanation for you, or a good piece of advice. But all I know to do now is wait. Wait to hear from Dumbledore, and hope that everything turns out." His voice turned decidedly gloomy at that remark. "On the bright side, at least we're not hunkered down in a cave, living off rats."
Hermione grimaced and nodded again as she slid the pan onto the stove and ignited the gas. The orange flame curled up around the black edges of the pan, and for a moment, Hermione found herself watching it, her thoughts drifting back to the things that had happened so far and how fast her life seemed to have turned around. She stifled a yawn and Sirius opened a cupboard to pull out a small mug.
"Coffee?" he offered.
Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "You can't fry bacon, but you can make coffee?"
Sirius snorted. "Actually, I can't do either. Old Goldilocks made a pot when he woke up this morning. I tell you that bloke is a nightmare without his caffeine."
"What? What do you mean Goldi… Oh!" Hermione covered her mouth as she snorted with laughter. "Oh, Sirius, that's not very nice!"
"Isn't it?" Sirius replied innocently, pressing a steaming mug into her hands.
Hermione accepted it gratefully and tried to school her expression. "I kind of like his hair. I mean, it's not entirely horrible."
Sirius gave Hermione an odd look at that, and she turned hurriedly back to her cooking.
"Where is Professor Snape, anyway?" she said as nonchalantly as she could manage, cracking an egg and pouring it onto the sizzling pan.
Sirius shrugged. "Fuck all if I know. Probably off sulking somewhere."
"Sulking?"
Sirius gave Hermione a mischievous smile. "Apparently he's still miffed that I got the bigger bedroom."
Hermione laughed and nodded. Secretly, she sort of wished that Snape had gotten the bigger room. Then he would be right next door.
After breakfast, Sirius gave Snape and Hermione the rest of the tour, revealing several sitting rooms with large fireplaces, a plethora of bathrooms, a basement that Sirius informed them was "mostly filled with rubbish," and a monstrously huge study. From which Hermione had to immediately excuse herself, as images from her recent dream had instantly flashed to mind.
Now she and Sirius were sitting out on the patio, drinking tea and discussing everything that had been going on at Hogwarts since Hermione's sudden departure. Even though it was snowing outside, the surrounding air had been enchanted to remain the perfect temperature. Sirius informed Hermione that Dumbledore and the rest of the staff had eventually been able to quench the forest fire that night she disappeared, and that by the time Sirius had left, the Forbidden Forest seemed to have begun the initial stages of re-growing itself.
"And Harry and Ron know I'm alright, don't they?"
Sirius nodded as he set down his cup. "I sent an owl to Dumbledore the night that you arrived. I assume he relayed that message on to them."
Hermione took another sip of her tea. "So is that really all we're expected to do now? Just… wait for something to happen?"
"Pretty much," Sirius said lightly, though Hermione could easily detect the suppressed bitterness in his voice.
"Well, I certainly hope it isn't for too long. I'll fall hopelessly behind in my classes!"
Sirius roared with laughter. "Only you, Hermione, would think about homework at a time like this."
Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't see why that's funny. I fully understand the situation, and I'm lucky to be alive, I'm sure, I try to keep everything in perspective but classwork is important. For my future, you know? I'm still trying to make up for the blasted E I received in Ancient Runes last semester. As much as I love that class, I'm finding it difficult… to…" Hermione trailed off as a strange sound began to drift in from the direction of the basement. "What's that?" She asked after a brief moment.
"Music," Sirius replied.
"Yes, thank you, I realized — but, who is playing it?"
"Knew he'd sniff it out eventually," Sirius muttered into his teacup.
"I'm sorry, who's 'he'? Surely that's not… I mean, surely that can't be…"
China clattered as Sirius returned his cup to its saucer. "Professor Snape is without a doubt the most loathsome, self-centered, and thoroughly unpleasant man I have ever met in my life." He paused and closed his eyes, relaxing his head against the back of his chair.
Then Sirius gave a deep sigh. "But the son of a bitch plays a beautiful piano."
Hermione stood outside the basement door, drinking in the intricate melody that Professor Snape was weaving just below her feet.
She didn't dare go inside for fear of alerting him to her presence and causing him to stop. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to watch him play: His long, pale fingers flying across the keys, his neck bent in a graceful arch, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration.
She had to admit, her mind certainly painted a fine picture.
Hermione swayed on her feet and put a hand out against the door to steady herself — only she put it down a bit harder than she meant to and caused a sharp rattling noise as the door knocked against its frame. The music stopped. Hermione's eyes widened as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and with a gasp, she turned tail and scampered down the hall towards the study.
As she shut the doors quickly behind her, she had a moment to fully take in the sight of such plentiful bookshelves. It was then that she became immediately determined to shake off the images from her dream (and her unhealthy attraction to a certain Professor) and to study books until her eyes fell out. If she didn't have a class to learn things in, she might as well teach herself!
Hermione was up late that night, having dedicated the past four hours to brushing up on her Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. She fell into bed around two in the morning, and tossed and turned for a good hour before finally sinking into a fitful sleep.
She was drifting down the hallway outside her door. There was a light on at the far end, and she felt herself drawn towards it.
It was strange. Her vision was not her own.
Hermione watched as though through a ghost's eyes as she glided down the dark hallway towards the closed door. She reached the door, paused, and then went through it as though it were not even there.
It was Snape's room.
There was a fire going in the fireplace and two figures were set in harsh contrast against the golden flames.
"Thought you could fool me, did you?" hissed the tall, robed figure.
Another figure, a man, was hunched against the opposite wall, next to the door, clutching a chair and mere seconds, it seemed, from collapsing to the floor.
"Thought you could betray me, thought you could spy and lie and cheat and play everyone around you like pawns in a chess match! Well, you couldn't play me, Severus. You couldn't fool me, and now you're going to pay. CRUCIO!"
Snape screamed and fell jerking to the floor, the chair toppling down beside him. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as his entire body seemed to curl in on itself in pain.
Voldemort cackled gleefully. "You failed, Severus, and now you will die for it!"
Snape screamed again in return, his face contorted with agony. Blood began to stream from his nose, so much blood, rolling down his chin and pooling on the floor beneath his head
"Any last words, Sev… Ah…" All of a sudden, as though in slow motion, Voldemort looked up and Hermione found herself staring directly into a pair of red, glowing eyes.
"Hello, Mudblood," he rasped. "You look surprised. Did you think this was a dream?"
Hermione's mind reeled. Wait, wasn't it? A horrible idea flashed through her head, and Hermione's heart catapulted itself into her throat. Was what she was seeing a vision like Harry's? Was this really happening?
As if to answer just that, Voldemort's mouth turned up into a cruel smile. "Stop me if you can, Mudblood. But by the time you wake up…" Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it directly at Snape's head. "You never liked him much, did you? Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of green light, and then Hermione put every last shred of energy into wrenching her eyes open. She shot out of her bed, snatched her wand off the dresser, tore open her bedroom door, and ran down the hall towards Snape's room, praying and praying and praying that she wasn't too late. Just like in her vision, there was a light coming from beneath the door and she felt all the breath leave her body as she saw a flash of green against the floorboards.
Finally she reached the end of the hall and snatched the door handle. It was locked tight. Desperately, she threw herself against the door, slamming her shoulder into it with all her might. "Professor Snape!" she shrieked "Oh God, Professor Snape! Please be alright, we're coming! Sirius! Sirius it's Him! Help! Professor Snape!"
There was an answering crash from beyond the door and Hermione gasped as she felt something warm and sticky trickle between her toes. She looked down to see a dark liquid seeping from beneath the door. At this, Hermione burst into hysterical sobs, throwing every opening curse she could think of against the locked handle with her wand, but to no avail.
He was dead! He was dead!
Then, the door opened, the hallway flooded with light, and Professor Severus Snape stood framed in the doorway looking perfectly healthy, perfectly alone, and perfectly furious.
"What the bloody hell is going on!" he roared.
"P-Professor," Hermione stammered, her eyes wildly searching the room for any signs of Voldemort. She looked down at her feet and saw a shattered inkbottle on the floor, a pool of ink (not blood) currently staining the bottoms of her toes.
Sirius came rushing up in just his boxer shorts, his wand out, and his eyes wide with fear. "Whassamatter?" he gasped. "I thought I heard – Did you say – What's going on?"
As another second ticked by and Voldemort still did not show, Hermione felt the wild fear that had previously gripped her heart so tightly, slowly release its hold and disappear.
It had all been a nightmare.
Just another nightmare.
She must be going absolutely insane.
"Well? Explain yourself, Granger," Snape growled irritably. "Waking us all up in the middle of the night, screaming like a lunatic — you'd better have a damn good reason for this."
"I–I–" Hermione stalled, unable to think of a suitable response. "N-nightmare," she finally blurted, looking back and forth between both faces — one concerned, and the other livid. "I–I–I thought that — that — Vol — that You-Know-Who had — that he was…" With a shaking hand Hermione reached up and rubbed the tears from her eyes. "Never mind," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Sirius, Professor — it — won't happen again."
"I should fucking think not," Snape snarled, pulling his night robe tighter around himself.
"Alright, Hermione, just calm down," Sirius said after shooting Snape a venomous look. He took a deep breath and finally lowered his wand back to his side. "As long as you're okay. Just… next time, try to make sure it's actually happening, alright?"
Hermione nodded numbly as Snape gave them both one last sneer and slammed the door in their faces.
Sirius made a very rude gesture at the closed door before turning back to Hermione. "Would you feel better if I walked you back to your room?"
Hermione laughed nervously. "No, that's alright. I think I'll… go downstairs and read for a little while. You know, now that I'm up and everything. Sorry I woke you."
Sirius gave Hermione an assessing look. "Sure you're alright? You look half dead — that must have been some nightmare. What exactly did you think was happening?"
Hermione rubbed her eyes again and shook her head. "It really doesn't matter. I'm just glad it was dream. Even if it meant putting myself on Professor Snape's bad side."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Hermione, that man doesn't have any other side."