Cavalry of One

Hermione poured through ancient tomes and made scrolls of notes far into the night. The library was deserted and completely silent. Finishing the preliminary research by two am, she took a short break to eat a napkin-wrapped muffin (filched from dinner) before getting down to the real work. While she ate, she stood before a nearby window, staring out into the peaceful night. Though it was spring, winter still laid a tentative hand on the landscape outside. The days were just starting to warm, and the nights were cold and windy.

"Gods," she murmured, "he must be freezing." Sending up a silent prayer for his comfort and safety, she got back to work, driven to find him at all costs.

It took her until four in the morning to adapt the charm she needed, and the Arithmancy spell wasn't completed until after six. The sun rose on a brisk, but clear morning, and Hermione was shocked at the light beginning to stream though the window. She'd not realized her work had been so time-consuming. It never occurred to her that a witch with less skill, intelligence, and determination would've required weeks to work out the problem, if succeeding at all. One thing she knew was--as impatient as she was to rush off to the rescue--she simply had to get some sleep before attempting the complicated spellwork ahead. Hermione also needed an item from home, and knew her father had just the thing. Writing a quick note to her parents, she sealed the scroll before wrapping it in a note to Harry, asking him to send the message with Hedwig as soon as he woke. On the way back to the tower, she stopped into the kitchens, and (after asking a house elf to deliver the note to Harry's room) began packing some supplies. The elves were happy to bring the food she requested; they'd finally forgiven her the ill advised S.P.E.W. campaign. Hermione was still active in various groups working toward better treatment of magical beings, but she no longer tried to free elves willy-nilly.

Working a quick preservation spell on the food, she shrank it enough to easily tuck away in a small drawstring pouch. After thanking her gracious helpers profusely, she departed through the fruited picture. Hermione's feet were headed tiredly to the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower when she remembered one more errand to take care of before succumbing to sleep's siren call. This early on a Saturday morning there were few people about. Though she threw the invisibility cloak back over herself, she was relieved not to have many people to dodge. Continuing to the stairs, she headed down instead of up.

Standing before Snape's office, Hermione raised her wand and examined the wards. The Aurors had lowered Snape's personal wards during their investigation--she was relieved to find they'd put only basic ones in their place. She was through the door and into his office within minutes. Once inside, she found the wards on the potions cabinet were still Snape's. Typically difficult and complex, Hermione spent over half an hour to cautiously break them, layer by layer. Some were simple alert wards, which she ignored--her Slytherin professor wasn't around to feel the silent alarms. She imagined she'd tripped rather enough of them to cause quite a headache when he returned, though. She stoutly refused to contemplate putting an "if" in that thought.

The potions in the cabinet were categorized and clearly labeled. Blessing her surly professor's organized mind, she quickly selected a variety of healing, pain, and restful sleep potions. These she couldn't miniaturize, as additional magic would ruin the effects of the potions. She withdrew a small potions box from her pack and fitted the bottles carefully into the cushioned, velvet lined compartments. Proceeding swiftly to Snape's desk, she searched the top. She didn't want to go pawing through his drawers (and she suspected they had wards she would never be able to break), but she needed something personal for the spellworking she had planned. Tucked between two books she found a handkerchief. She quickly performed an adapted reveal spell on it. After the botched Polyjuice potion second year, she'd learned to be more careful of unknown spell ingredients. The simple, white linen handkerchief was indeed Severus', and enough of his aura clung to it to serve her purpose. She wanted very much to tuck it into her robes, next to her heart; with a sigh she placed it carefully on top of the phials she had stolen and closed the case. She couldn't afford to let her aura contaminate it. Hermione wished she could take Severus' wand to him, but it was locked carefully in Dumbledore's office, and even with the cloak and password she knew she'd never get anything out without the Headmaster's notice. She looked around the empty office sadly one last time, then made her way to her room, falling into an exhausted sleep.

Hermione dreamlessly slept for six hours. She woke to a package on her bed, together with a quick note from Harry. She appreciated him helping her, but she scowled at his telling her again to take any findings to Dumbledore. It just wasn't possible. The object she intended to fabricate would work well only for the maker, and she refused to waste more time trying to convince the Headmaster she needed to go along. Eagerly opening the package from her parents, she removed the old Muggle compass. Setting it aside reverently, she prepared for her journey. A packed knapsack and a quick cleansing charm later, she stood next to the bed dressed in sturdy Muggle clothes--jeans, jumper, and hiking boots. She hated Severus would see her looking so boyish, but this was about rescuing, not romance. She was ready to begin casting.

Hermione started with a simple transfiguration--the compass became larger, its face luminous. Then she began her adapted charm. Wrapping the compass tightly in Severus' handkerchief, she worked an intricate charm, tying his aura to the compass. She was beautiful when she cast, the graceful, focused, complex motions like a dance of hands and wand. The handkerchief vanished...the face of the compass changed. Instead of the cardinal directions and their counterparts, there was now only one prominent marking on the face: a silver, entwined double "S" gracing the point that formerly marked North, while the lesser directions were branded with tiny serpents facing in the direction they indicated.

Now the only thing left to do was the hardest. The Arithmancy spell was the most difficult she had ever attempted. She was fortunate it was her best subject. During the difficult casting, her voice never wavered and her wand never fell. When it was finally finished, the needle came alive with searching movement. After a few spins, the compass pointed the direction in which Hagrid's Hut lay. That told her that her elusive Potions Master was due north of Hogwarts.

With a quiet shout, mixed of triumph and relief, Hermione put on her cloak and pack, grabbed her broom, and covered all with the invisibility cloak. Leaving her room, she made her way silently to the gates of Hogwarts. Once past, she mounted her broom and balanced carefully. It was a standard school model she'd bought in a used broom shop during her brief period dating Ron. Flying on broomstick was not her favorite way to travel, but it was the only option she knew that would permit her to both make good time and continually check Severus' position on the newly created Snape compass.

With a final look at the secure familiarity of the castle Hogwarts, her home for the last seven years, Hermione gave a small sigh and flew off into the unknown. She did not look back again.

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Severus woke up sudden panic. He'd been having an unfathomable dream in which Albus Dumbledore was kissing him. His eyes opened wide with shock, only to find Bob's furry face immediately above his own--undoubtedly the source of the whiskery kiss.

"You need a shave," he said with a glower. Bob refused comment but nickered in horsy laughter. They had a breakfast of apples in companionable silence, Severus eating four, while Bob polished off two whole ones and all of Severus' cores. Bob then finished off his meal with several mouthfuls of thimble-flowered grass. Making a brief foray to the scene of the prior night's battle (with Bob's gracious permission), Severus had hoped the Redcaps' weapons might still be there--but unseen hands had come in the night and picked the area clean. He could have kicked himself for not thinking of it after the fight; he had just been too worn out to think clearly. Returning to the dell, he regarded the last two apples. He was getting sick to death of apples, but they did slake his thirst, and heaven knew when he would find anything else to eat. Though two were easily carried, he decided to spell them. Wizards duelists, like American Muggle gunslingers, had an abhorrence of carrying things in their hands. He spoke and the apples bobbed a bit, settling in behind him. He could tell, even with a night of rest, that his magic had grown weaker. He was tired and beginning to feel weak and ill. Despite the unicorn's shared warmth, the night on the cold ground had chilled him to the bone. The constant struggle with wandless magic, followed too soon by the spells he used against the Redcaps, had left him terribly depleted. Feeling he'd never be warm again, he wanted only to curl up with Bob and go back to sleep. Sleeping would never get him home, however. With a strength of will honed by endless years of finding himself in all manner of distasteful situations, he drew himself up straight and gestured to Bob to lead the way. Responding with gleeful whinnies, Bob tried to snuffle at the thick black curls at Severus' crotch.

"That is NOT for you!" Severus snarled, but the hands he thrust out to bat the foolish creature's head away were surprisingly gentle. Bob continued to snicker as he gave up teasing his human and turned to lead them from the clearing. He headed due south.

At first the journey was easy enough. While the thick canopy above them made for a murky journey, it also meant that there was less undergrowth to avoid. The walk gave Severus time to think. He was resolved to getting back to Hogwarts one way or another, no matter how long and uncomfortable the journey. He had a mission: kill Neville Longbottom!

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When Albus Dumbledore woke from a restless sleep, he found himself wandering to the grandfather clock, still clad in his nightshirt. He was very much afraid of what he would find there. As he searched out one particular hand, a tiny twinkle sparked in his blue eyes. Severus' hand had moved into "In Transit." A soft breath of relief echoed in the quiet room. Then he noticed a new designation on the clock face. Sometime in the night the phrase "Rescue Mission" had appeared; all alone in the midst of it was the clock hand belonging to Hermione.

"Damn. What in the world were you thinking, my dear?" He'd been hoping his threat of expulsion would keep the child safe. He never thought it would drive her to roam about on her own. He ought to have known better, of course. Albus knew exactly which wizard had inspired Miss Granger's recent emotional clock designation. What the hell were those boys thinking, letting her go haring off alone? He would have to speak to them as quickly as possible. Before changing into his robes, he called a house elf, asking it to find the boys and send them immediately.

When the boys arrived they met a stern-faced Headmaster. His face appeared, by turns, both angry and disappointed when he learned they knew absolutely nothing of Hermione's plans.

He ushered them from his office with a brisk, "I know I ought to be congratulating you for following my orders, but I simply cannot believe two brave Gryffindors let such a sweet young lady wander off into danger alone."

Harry and Ron were devastated. They walked in embarrassed silence back to their common room. Sitting in a quiet corner, conversing in low tones, Harry filled Ron in on Hermione's night in the restricted section.

"We're never going to figure out what she did are we?" said Harry.

"Never. If we transfigured both our brains into one we still wouldn't be as smart as 'Mione," Ron replied. Then he fell back into his habit of uttering complete nonsense when upset. "Why would she go to so much trouble for that greasy bat anyway? If I'd for one second thought she was serious I would have locked her in the Quidditch shed! When she gets back I'm really going to give her a piece of my mind!"

"Ron Weasley!" snapped Harry. "You're my best friend but sometimes I could wring your bloody neck! If we're lucky enough to get Hermione back in one piece--after the disgusting way we've treated her--we should get down, kiss her feet, and beg her forgiveness!" Harry's words fell on Ron as if he'd been doused in cold water.

"I just don't understand why she did it, Harry," he said quietly.

"Because she's in love with him you dunderhead! Before you get on a roll about that one, I'm going to tell you right now that if you don't want to lose her friendship forever, you bloody well better get used to the idea. You'd best use the time Hermione's gone and try to fucking grow up!" Harry's voice had been getting louder and louder as he talked, and he fairly screamed the last. Thundering off to their dormitory, he left Ron looking absolutely gobsmacked.