Walking Thoughts

The first few miles of Hermione's flight went smoothly. Once out of sight of Hogwarts, she paused to remove the invisibility cloak and tuck it safely into her pack. She'd decided it was too blasted difficult to make sure it covered broom, body, and all, while flying. Saint Simeon himself would have been impressed by the tremendous foolishness of this single act. Later, Hermione would have ample time to reflect on this decision with regret. Flying close to the treetops, she momentarily remained blissfully ignorant of impending doom. Their nearness comforted her and she felt safer not flying too high. This decision would have made St. Simeon laugh right out loud, had he been there.

The average human being spends very little time looking at anything located more than a foot or so above their heads. Indeed, to best hide something, hide it in plain sight--so long as it is up. Slytherins are quite aware of this. Slytherins can have sex outside on a balcony, facing a crowded street, and 999 times out of a thousand--no one will notice. (This bit of knowledge causes Slytherins to feel a bit smug. Perhaps it's not only the knowledge, but also the exercise giving Slytherins that smug smile.) Gryffindors, on the other hand, will try to snog under a table and everyone in the room will know about it. (This will also make Slytherins smug, but then most things do.) Slytherins think Gryffindors have a lot in common with St. Simeon, except that while St. Simeon acted the fool, Slytherins think Gryffs have been typecast.

In typical, non-Slytherin, human fashion, Hermione was unused to paying attention to things in the sky when not actively studying astronomy. Humans tend to believe all things behave basically the same as they do, and when the universe proves them wrong time after time, they have the audacity to keep looking surprised. It would come as no surprise to Hagrid that creatures living and nesting in the treetops of the Forbidden Forest kept a sharp eye to the skies, watching for encroaching danger. For Hermione, unfortunately, the clever gamekeeper was no more present than St. Simeon.

The nesting pair of hippogriffs watched the intruder intently. Hippogriffs are temperamental during the best of occasions, as well as being sticklers where manners are concerned. Nesting hippogriffs can unexpectedly change from "merely temperamental," to "bordering on psychotic" rather quickly. Considering anything flying over their nest as be the epitome of rudeness, they feel the only punishment fit for such behavior is immediate death and dismemberment. Wizard children are warned of such things when they are given their first broomstick. Children of Muggle dentists have no such warnings.

As Hermione flew over the nest, the male hippogriff exploded from the treetops, screeching in fury. Hermione nearly fell off her broom in surprise. The hippogriff charged, and she--never the most skilled of fliers--panicked. She could only think how desperately she wished to be back on solid ground. Hermione dove straight down. The dive was far too steep for anyone other than Harry Potter himself to recover from, and poor Hermione never stood a chance. To complicate matters, an errant tree branch caught her across the forehead, making her race towards the ground more uncontrollably. Vainly trying to pull up, Hermione crashed unceremoniously to the ground, losing consciousness as she landed in a heap.

Fortunately for Hermione, hippogriffs have the most unfortunate habit of never looking down. Once she disappeared, to lie as if dead in a clump of bushes, the hippogriff decided she no longer existed and returned to his worried mate on the nest.

Finally regaining her senses, Hermione woke to find the threat gone and herself unhurt, except for assorted scrapes and a bitch of a headache. The broomstick, however, was mortally wounded. The sudden crack against the ground had split it into three pieces. It was beyond repair. Hermione put her head in her hands as she collected her thoughts. There was no way she was giving up; she would just have to resign herself to a slower journey on foot. She had only made it ten miles from Hogwarts. Though she didn't realize it, Severus was still over twenty miles away. She had learned one lesson, though: before setting out, she carefully put the invisibility cloak on over her warm woolen one.

Saint Simeon smiled.

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The first hour of Bob and Severus' journey was relatively peaceful. Stumbling upon a trail leading south, Severus paused in indecision. Not a Slytherin for nothing, he was suspicious of the seemingly too-convenient path. In truth, Severus was wary with good reason. Innocent paths in the deep of enchanted forests usually led places the average wizard did not desire to go, and were made by creatures unpleasant to meet. When Bob snickered at him and tried to resume nuzzling at places Severus thought he had no business nuzzling, Severus gave in and followed his equine friend down the path.

"Well, Bob," he grumbled, "we both know following my lead is bound to end a cock-up. I suppose I'll have to trust you in this instance."

The trail was slightly more open than the surrounding wood. It meandered like a stream, winding through the trees as bits of light filtered through a nearly non-existent gap in the leafy ceiling above. Though still cool, the exercise warmed Severus enough to lighten his discomfort. Having little to do--beyond docilely following the horsy rump in front of him--Severus soon found himself lost in his thoughts.

His mind recalled a pair of soft brown eyes staring up at him from the potion classroom's floor. The expression they'd held had rather shocked him, for they'd seemed to express both the fright of a startled doe and the warm concern of a lover. He attempted repeatedly to ban the evocative image from his mind, only to have it reappear the moment he dropped his guard. This both befuddled and annoyed him. That lovely young face had absolutely no business haunting him. Wait--lovely? From what circle of hell had that thought sprung? Since when did anything about the most annoying witch to darken his classroom door seem attractive? Damn--he knew he'd been too hard on her. She'd surprised him in her second year with a flat refusal to be afraid of him. At some point, she'd begun showing him a grudging respect; that respect endured a gradual metamorphosis into open admiration. As a child, her eyes swam with tears each time he'd loosed a barb in her direction, yet--in the last couple of years--she'd given back as good as she got, and always with a delicate turn of phrase just this side of respectful. Most recently, when he'd directed his most terrifying scowl her way, she got a rather pinched look on her face, leading him to suspect she was biting her tongue to prevent her laughter. What kind of witch laughed at his patented 'I am evil incarnate' look?

He was forced to admit her remarkable brilliance. Not that he would ever be caught rhapsodizing on her many talents in the staff room, unlike the other professors--the insipid fools. She also had a gift for potion-making that her imbecilic classmates lacked. This last year, he'd taken to giving her detentions at random, for completely nonexistent reasons, whenever he required an assistant for his own work. She would, quite transparently, pretend to sulk, and he, in turn, would pretend to fail seeing through her pretense. At the beginning, they worked in companionable silence; eventually, however, they developed a pattern of falling into discussions of all manner of magical theory. Severus wasn't accustomed to conversing with people as intelligent and articulate as himself. He was also unused to the rare treasure of feeling free to act of his own accord, without the constant annoyance of giving offense. Like Albus, Hermione didn't seem to care if he wasn't nice; when at his most annoying, she was at her most amused. It was rather addicting, and the only method he'd found to cope with her impending graduation was to utterly refuse admitting himself capable of missing anyone. He'd grown accustomed to thinking of Miss Granger as an extraordinary student and an interesting person with whom to debate; a sort of colleague, a contemporary. He'd thought it was only her mind he admired. A little mishap, a little fatigue, and suddenly her eyes haunted him and the word "lovely" was bandied about inside his head.

It was most disconcerting.

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Hermione's invisible passage through the wood was blissfully uneventful, if a bit boring. She often found herself berating her stupidity at losing the broom. She had no idea how distant Severus might be, and knowing she might have already reached him drove her to distraction. For all she knew, the man bedeviling her every thought was suffering severely and in dire need of assistance. Her overactive imagination envisioned him in all sorts of catastrophic situations: tired, hungry, cold; maimed, despairing...dead. Her worst waking nightmare included walking a hundred miles, faithfully guided by her Snape compass, only to find his ravaged and lifeless body. She was beginning to wish she had listened to Harry and taken her findings to Dumbledore. Surely she could have found some way to make him understand it was imperative for her to go with the rescue party. The headmaster would have found a faster way to reach Severus than walking. She couldn't bring herself to turn back, however; with her luck, she would turn back when her love was just around the next bend--broken, bleeding, and desperately needing help.

To drive away the restless fears, she forced herself to focus on more pleasant thoughts. Ebony eyes flashing terror into a wayward first year one moment; sparking with interest and wonder during their heated Arithmancy debates the next. She could only imagine how they'd look alight with passion. Hermione was unsure why she continued to torture herself with such thoughts. True, they'd formed a sort of camaraderie of mind during his ridiculous fake detentions, but he had at all times acquitted himself with the utmost propriety. Not once had he given any indication of regarding her as anything more than a dedicated student and interesting conversationalist. He'd given her not one warm look or friendly touch; in fact, he avoided touching her in any fashion, other than the unavoidable brush of fingers when she passed on potion ingredients. Hermione was certain the Potions Master hadn't a clue that each such careless contact literally caused her heart to skip a beat. He likely would run screaming from the room if he knew.

Why would he not run, after all? He'd called her "silly little girl" so often, she ought to have the phrase emblazoned on a t-shirt, then he'd be able to point and save his breath. She had nothing particularly to recommend her. Certainly, he admired her mind, but a grown man does not coil naked with a woman's mind. She was relatively certain that Professor Snape wasn't a man drawn to dull women; he'd too soon grow bored. However, there are many intelligent women much more beautiful than she; Severus, though not classically handsome, held enough dark intrigue to garner his share of propositions. The thought of "her" professor with one of these phantom women made the young woman's eyes narrow with jealousy. Damn the man! Were she fortunate enough to find Severus before some contemptible fate caught up with him, she would surrender to Gryffindor recklessness for once and give those phantom women a run for their money! With grim determination, she increased her pace. Perhaps Harry had been right--maybe she was bloody doomed, but she'd not go quietly into doomed oblivion. She'd do her best to throw herself at the obstinate man, hoping he was intelligent enough to catch her.

Beware Severus Snape, your fate comes stalking...and it's wearing hiking boots.

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Severus' journey following Bob down the path had become a trying ordeal. Any person that's spent time in a forest (be they wizard or Muggle), will advise in great length of the various proper states of attire for a prolonged hike in the woods. Not one will advise to tromp about naked--and with good reason. The most circumspect of nude traveler will inadvertently brush against all manner of things in passing. Sharp twigs, thorny bushes, stinging nettles, poison ivy--only a few of the non-magical flora that Severus encountered since he woke to discover his au naturel predicament. His tall, lean body was already marred with a plethora of scrapes and scratches. These things he simply ignored. Years as a Death Eater and spy had trained him to put any mere unpleasantness easily out of his mind. Even in his reverie, he'd kept raven-sharp eyes on watch for the more dangerous, magical plants. He simply hadn't been able to avoid everything, especially before finding the trail they currently traversed. In stoic fashion, he ignored what he could do nothing about; were he to fall to distraction with the memory of dusky eyes, it was surely a necessary diversion. Unfortunately, he now faced a problem he could no longer put aside. He'd have gladly given up the Snape family estate for his own well worn, but beloved, dragonhide boots.

The trail they followed was barely broken and seemed seldom used. The dirt was littered with stones, branches, and tree roots. Severus had tried to be careful of his feet, but after walking three hours, his beleaguered appendages were torn and bloody. Bob, for his part, would gladly have given his human friend a lift, were it in his power to do so. Unicorns are small and delicately made. While very strong, in their own way, they are nevertheless quite unsuited as beasts of burden. Severus was deciding what, if anything, he could do about this turn of events, when Bob stopped in front of him.

They'd come upon a small brook crossing the trail. Severus hoped it would be potable--the final two apples had been divided between them over an hour ago, and he was terribly thirsty.

"What do you think little one?" Severus asked. "Do you think we can chance it?" Bob lowered his head to sniff intently at the water's surface. Raising it, he blew air through his lips in an equine raspberry. He looked to his friend, tossing his head and appearing uncertain.

"Time I earned my keep is it?" Severus said with a smirk. "Not to worry, I do have a bit of experience judging the properties of liquids, after all." Kneeling down, Severus cupped water in his hand, lifted it to his prodigious nose, and inhaled deeply. His lips parted slightly, much as a cat's will when scenting raptly. He nodded absently, as if satisfied, then touched his tongue lightly to the surface of the water. He closed his eyes, and--in the manner of Muggle scientists and wizard potion masters--focused one hundred percent of his attention to the taste of the puzzle at hand. The wizard portion of his mind instinctively checked for any trace of magical effect or compulsion. His eyes eventually sprang open in calm surety.

"It's safe enough, although we can only hope to avoid a case of traveler's ague, as I don't think I'm up to a boiling spell." With that assurance, Bob happily dropped his head to the water and drank deeply. At first cupping the cold water in his palm, Severus then sighed, stretched out on the bank, and lowered his lips to the water in imitation of his companion. His head snapped up when he heard feminine laughter.

A woman, stunningly beautiful, stood on the other side of the narrow stream, gazing at him with wry amusement. She wore a long, elegant, ivy green brocade gown with a very full skirt, reminiscent of an earlier age. Her blonde hair blew about in the gentle breeze and her hands, playing with her skirt, swirled it in a seemingly unconscious imitation of her hair. She laughed again as her green eyes swept interestedly over Severus' nude length, still stretched out along the bank.

Severus' first reaction was to spring to his feet, but quickly quelled it in favor of keeping those parts of his anatomy, so compelling as far as Bob were concerned, covered. The unicorn gave the woman a token glance and resumed drinking. In Bob's defense, her type of being was no threat to a unicorn, so he had no way of knowing the danger she posed to normal men. Incidentally, none in Severus' acquaintance would ever refer to him as "normal." Noticing Bob's lack of concern, Severus forwent scrambling to his feet and settled on raising himself enough to prop an elbow in the dirt and rest chin in hand. Raising an eyebrow and giving the alluring blonde a look conveying extreme boredom, he addressed her.

"Good day, madam," he said in a world-weary voice. It paid to be polite when dealing with an unknown being, but it also paid to discourage further conversation. Her replying laughter bubbled like the stream.

"Good day, milord," she responded in a voice like warm butterbeer. "I must confess it is not everyday I find a bonny lad draped upon the ground, nor one so charmingly attired." Severus was not distracted by the syrupy voice--he rather detested butterbeer. Instead, he took the time in which she spoke to study her form as minutely as he would an unknown, and potentially dangerous, potion. There was something decidedly odd about how she kept her flowing skirts in a state of almost hypnotic movement. His suspicious nature would serve him well this day. A more trusting man, a man more susceptible to a pretty face and sweet voice, would have met a very different fate. His study was rewarded. There it was--difficult to glimpse amongst the swirling cloth, Severus saw an almost dainty cloven hoof.

He immediately relaxed. He knew exactly what this creature was; it was no danger to an intelligent wizard. The woman was a type of water fairy, a Glaistig. Similar in part to a centaur, the Glaistig was part woman, part goat. They lurked near water-crossed paths hoping to lure travelers to dance with them. Any man doing so found his demise, as Glaistigs fed on their dance partners like vampires. They were bound by their magic, however, and if he would not dance, she would not drink.

"You might well give it a miss, madam," Severus broke in coolly, "not even the fires of Hades itself could convince me to dance with you." With that, he calmly rejoined Bob in finishing his drink. The Glaistig's bewitching manner was gone, and with it fled her sweet voice. With tones akin more to firewhisky than butterbeer, she heaped abuse upon the weary travelers before storming away in a flurry of cloth and hooves.

Finishing his drink, Severus sat up to examine his abused feet. They were indeed in a bad way, and if he didn't soon find some answer to his quandary, he wouldn't be going much farther. He spared no time trying healing charms. Attempting to heal without a wand is a bit like a Muggle surgeon trying to operate without a scalpel. Recalling his beautiful boots once more, he was struck with an idea. His boots, as his teaching robes, were charmed by a variety of protective spells. Teaching bumbling cretins how to combine volatile potion ingredients was dangerous work. Since most failed student attempts ended in melted cauldrons and caustic substances running over the classroom floor, he paid particular attention to the spells on his boots. One of those spells was an armoring charm. A very useful charm, not only would it keep the most caustic of substances out, Hagrid himself could step on Severus' booted foot and he would feel no pain. Severus wasn't certain he could do it without a wand, nor was he sure what effect said charm would have on bare skin, but he had to try something.

An hour passed. Bob, tired from his sleepless night, napped while Severus worked his magic. It took several tries and far more time and energy than Severus thought was prudent. He was, at last, met with success. His feet still stung from previous injury, but were safe from future harm. Rousing Bob from his nap and taking a final drink from the stream, Severus crossed the brook and continued his journey home, far wearier than before.

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Hermione had stumbled on a path heading north. Knowing the dangers of woodland paths, she felt secure enough in her invisibility to exchange prudence for speed. It would have cheered her greatly to know that fate had led her stumbling steps to the very trail Bob and Severus now followed. She walked for hours, until an unforeseen circumstance halted her progress abruptly. A small herd of Catoblepas had encroached on the path to forage on the sparse vegetation growing at its edges. They looked rather like scaled cattle with over-large, heavy heads that hung earthward. They were not especially aggressive, but their chosen diet of poisonous plants made their breath deadly to humans. The safest way of dealing with them was to avoid their attention completely. Hermione was invisible and, luckily, upwind of the grazing animals, but they completely blocked her path. If she tried to leave the path and circle around them they would likely hear her. No matter how much care she took she'd never miss every dead leaf and snapping twig. The Catoblepas didn't have to see her to hurt her; they had only to breathe in her general direction. She quietly backtracked, putting a little more distance between herself and the noxious creatures. There was nothing to do about it; she would have to wait until they moved along. Using the unexpected break to have an early dinner of cheese and bread, she then checked her stores to make certain her potions were surviving the journey intact. Then she permitted herself to become lost for a bit in her daydreams. By the time the herd had moved along, it was nearing sunset. Hermione made sure she moved past the haunt of the Catoblepas, in case they returned in the night, then resigned herself to sleep. Placing wards around the nook between two tree trunks where she curled herself, she then slept. Her entire journey that day, both by broomstick and hiking boots, had only taken her fifteen miles north of Hogwarts.

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Severus tried to push ahead. He was determined to return to Hogwarts and kill Neville Longbottom, yet no amount of will could completely negate the needs of a body made weary by exposure, hunger, injury, encroaching illness, and overuse of magic. Bob aided all he could, whinnying at the few things that were edible, but in early spring there is little in any wood to keep a man alive. Severus found himself puzzled by that branch of apples--they weren't in season, so where had they come from? He imagined the unicorn must have journeyed to some enchanted garden; he wished there was one nearer by. He'd never reach home if he couldn't keep his strength--he was too weary to manage another step. With that thought, he lay down to sleep the remainder of that day and through the night. Bob dozed lightly, keeping faithful guard over his pet. Severus had managed five miles that day. Seventeen miles separated him from Hermione.