Chapter Six: Found

Disclaimer : the characters aren't mine, the Potterverse isn't mine, even the prompt is someone else's!

Many thanks to my lovely beta, ladyinthecloak, for your helpful comments and comma wrangling. You are awesome!

Chapter 6: Found

As the bus travelled its circuitous route back to the main city centre, Hermione reflected on all she had learned that afternoon. Firstly, there was definitely a magically concealed house at Spinner's End. Secondly, someone who used Apparition had entered said house. Thirdly, Severus Snape was the registered owner of a property which should be found at that end of the street. As far as she was concerned, the flash of black material she had seen could belong to none other than the man she sought. A wry smile crossed her face as she realised that had she not fallen asleep whilst waiting, she could be at that moment taking tea with her ex-professor instead of riding in a draughty bus back to her solitary meal at the hostel.

At that moment she felt the charmed Galleon develop the familiar, welcome warmth that had comforted her twice daily for the last few weeks. Soon, Professor... soon, she thought. Now she had some concrete evidence to follow up, she was unconcerned that she could not return to Spinner's End until the following weekend. Hermione felt confident that the house and its resident would still be waiting for her. All she had to do was stay awake long enough to attract his attention as he Apparated in or out of the street. In the event that he did not appear, she had a back-up plan prepared. She would leave some sort of message on the footpath outside the house to catch his attention as he arrived. It would need to be somewhat cryptic; she was not foolish enough to leave her name and address for any curious Muggle to view, however deserted the area appeared.

After her evening meal of cold meat and salad, Hermione cleaned up her dishes, set clean clothes aside for the morning, showered, and undressed for bed, all the while humming a cheerful tune. Despite the low-grade headache that had become a normal part of life since her unwilling audience with Evil Incarnate, who with any luck was now so many pieces of particulate matter, she felt like life had finally become worth living again. Her sleep that night was for once, nightmare-free.

***

Snape moved away from the window to the street, having seen nothing of interest. He removed his robes and hung them carefully on the coat-stand in the hall. Having eaten at the coffee shop an hour earlier, he had no need to cook and merely brewed a pot of his favourite, aromatic, dark coffee to sip while planning the next day's mission. His talk with the social worker had left him concerned. It appeared that Hermione had sustained deeper psychological harm than he had anticipated. She had obviously maintained some degree of wit, as she had not revealed to the staff at the hospital the true cause of her distress. For that, he had developed a new-found respect for the young witch. Snape knew that he would have to tread carefully the next day, as he did not want to cause her unneeded distress. He had already decided to use the Glamour again and simply observe her initially.

He rose and climbed the narrow stairs. Entering the small spare room, he stripped the bed and used the strongest cleaning charms he knew on the entire room to remove any lingering evidence of his last guest. He had every intention of bringing Hermione home with him once he had spoken with her and did not want any reminder of the rat that had been in residence the previous year. Remaking the bed with crisp cotton sheets and woollen blankets, he topped it with a cosy quilt that he had retrieved from his mother's old linen chest. The wardrobe was thankfully empty, and the desk, which used to be his as a child, was still quite serviceable. He placed parchment, quills, and ink on the desk; a towel over the chair; and a set of his own robes, transfigured to fit the girl he was seeking, into the wardrobe.

If anyone had asked Severus Snape why he was taking so much trouble to prepare the room for an ex-student he had barely acknowledged previously, he would have been unable to provide an answer. In truth, he barely knew himself. His feelings of concern for the witch's well-being and comfort were something foreign to his experience, a product of his immense feelings of guilt at having been unable to prevent her despoliation and his respect for her courage in the face of overwhelming despair.

***

The day dawned full of hope and promise. A few clouds scudding along on a light breeze were the only imperfection in an otherwise clear, blue, summer's sky. The sweet song of the birds formed a glorious morning chorus, bees were gathering nectar from the myriad of flowers in the park across the road, and already the air was warmed by the morning sun. People were hustling along the street, busy about their lives. The world was vibrant and alive, and for once, Hermione noticed.

She arrived at the café and, with a cheery greeting for her employer, went through to the back room to prepare for the day's work. With her hair already neatly tied back, she only had to don her cheerful red apron and stow away her bag, and she was ready. Returning to the kitchen, she hummed softly to herself as she prepared the delicious sandwiches, cakes, and muffins for the day's customers, who would start arriving as soon as the doors opened at eight.

"Hermione? Are you feeling okay?" asked Shirley, her boss.

"Um, yes... why do you ask?" Hermione turned to her employer and smiled.

"Well, it's just that you don't usually seem so cheerful. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but it's just not like you..." Shirley trailed off, obviously feeling foolish for mentioning anything.

"Oh, I just had a particularly good day yesterday," replied Hermione, not wanting to go into details. How could you explain to someone non-magical that you had spent the afternoon watching an invisible house? She quickly went out to check that all the tables were clean and properly equipped, avoiding any further questions.

The usual morning rush was soon upon them, making further conversation impossible. With her past practice at making complex potions, Hermione found brewing the perfect cappuccino a simple task and had taken over duty at the large, commercial coffee maker soon after commencing employment, much to Shirley's delight. She had been having trouble finding someone, other than herself, who could create the delicious variety of coffees they served all day long. Her new protégé's skill freed her up to circulate around the customers, ensuring they all enjoyed their visit and were likely to return.

Sometime around midday, Shirley noticed the tall, dark, and intriguing man from the day before sitting in the corner. She pointed him out to Hermione, telling her that he had sat at that table all afternoon the previous day just watching all that happened.

"He looks innocuous enough," Hermione murmured to Shirley as she passed, after surreptitiously studying the customer for a few minutes. He was, she estimated, late thirties, with dark brown hair, pale, even features, and hazel eyes. His clothing was casual, a black shirt and pants. Vaguely familiar too, she thought to herself briefly, but the lunchtime crowd soon took her mind off the man who seemed content to read a book while consuming a number of espressos during the afternoon. When she had served him, he had appeared to study her closely before ordering his coffee in a voice as rich and mellifluous as his preferred beverage. She looked up and met his hazel eyes, and for some reason they appeared incongruous with his voice. Shaking the feeling off as completely fanciful, she took his money and busied herself making his coffee. As he thanked her, she noticed his elegant hands, with long pale fingers, and for some reason felt a strong sensation of déjà vu.

Towards the end of a very busy afternoon, Hermione realised with an odd feeling of loss that the mystery man had left. She had intended to take the opportunity to make conversation with him once the café quietened down. He seemed to have a purpose to his visit, and she was curious to find out more. Shrugging her shoulders, she realised she had missed her chance and got back to cleaning the tables prior to helping Shirley close up for the day.

***

Snape waited patiently around the corner from the coffee shop. He knew that Hermione would finish work soon and had placed himself in such a position that he could approach her without attracting undue attention. Having observed her closely during the afternoon, he had come to the conclusion that she appeared physically well and not unduly distraught. She performed her duties effectively and certainly brewed a damn good espresso. Outstanding, Miss Granger. He smirked to himself. Once, he had reached into the pocket concealing his wand and wordlessly activated the Galleon. The brilliant smile that briefly lit up her face answered most of his questions about her willingness to be returned to the wizarding world.

Hearing voices at the door of the café, Snape melted into the shadows of the doorway in which he was lurking, waiting until the older woman walked off in the opposite direction. Hermione turned, and as she walked past the doorway, he stepped out into her path.

***

After helping lock up the shop, Hermione exchanged a few words with Shirley before bidding her farewell and heading for home. No sooner had she passed the next shop when she was stopped in her tracks by the very man upon whom she had been musing earlier.

"Excuse me," she politely asked the man who was now blocking her path.

"I am sorry to startle you," he replied, "but I just wanted to show you something."

Hermione began to feel uneasy. What would a complete stranger have to show her that he couldn't have done in the café? Perhaps he was not as innocuous as he had seemed. For the first time in weeks, she felt acutely the loss of her wand.

He smirked, a very familiar expression, and hastened to reassure her. "No, it's nothing like you imagine. I suspect that you will be very pleased to see this." With that, he opened his hand revealing a golden Galleon, the twin to the one she had carefully stowed in her pocket.

She stared in disbelief. "How did you get that? Who gave it to you?" she demanded, not wanting to accept that the Galleon had fallen into some stranger's hands.

"Why, Miss Granger, I have always had it," answered the man with the familiar voice and the unfamiliar face. She looked at him more closely, and as she did so, he whispered, "Finite incantatem." His eyes and hair slowly grew darker until they were as black as night. His hair lengthened, and his nose changed into a more prominent feature on his now easily recognisable face. She stared at him in wonder, wanting to believe so desperately.

"Oh, Professor!" Without really thinking about what she was doing, she fell into his arms, holding on as if she was afraid that if she let go he would disappear. Tears of relief and joy soaked his shirt until she realised just who she was clinging to. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean..."

"Shh," he soothed, "It's all right. You are forgiven." Snape drew her gently away from his sodden shirt and looked into her eyes. She returned his gaze, drinking in his appearance, the first familiar face she had seen since her ordeal. The slight quirk of his lips as he smiled in reassurance was foreign to her, but softened his whole demeanour.

"It is you? I am not hallucinating?" she questioned softly.

"It is I, Severus Snape, the Greasy Git, Bat of the Dungeons, Esq., at your service." He bowed deeply. She giggled at his attempt at humour.

"Now, I must be hallucinating. Professor Snape does not make jokes," she declared.

"Ahh, but the Snape you knew had a role to play. Jokes were not part of the repertoire," he answered.

"Yes, I suppose that is true. But what happened? Did anyone...?" She couldn't finish her question, not really wanting to know who had not survived the war.

"You must have a lot of questions. But first, we should take this conversation somewhere more suitable. I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since breakfast and all that coffee..." He did look a little uncomfortable.

"My hostel is just around the corner. You could... er... use the facilities there," she invited, feeling somewhat uncomfortable thinking about her ex-teacher's bodily functions.

They walked around to her lodgings, avoiding any serious topics. She had taken hold of his hand, not even aware she had done so. He was keenly aware of her small hand in his and her need for reassurance that he was not about to abandon her again. All his protective instincts were out in full force; this young witch had brought about something that had rarely happened before – Severus Snape cared.

After he had relieved himself of the effect of numerous cups of coffee, Hermione had showed him her meagre accommodations.

"It's not much, but it's all I can afford," she explained.

"I would very much like you to come and stay at my home," Snape said, watching her response carefully.

"Are you sure? I mean, we have not exactly got along well before, now, have we? What did you call me? I believe it was an insufferable know-it-all," she replied, without conviction. The thought of getting out of the hostel and living somewhere in the magical world was appealing, even if it was with Severus Snape.

"That was some years ago, young lady. I think we could manage to adjust ourselves to tolerate each other, if we try hard enough. Besides, there is the matter of your little problem to address. You don't think I am going to let that callous bastard succeed in what he did without some attempt at reversal, do you?" Snape's expression showed his hatred of his late, but certainly not lamented, master.

Hermione felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. Not only was Snape willing to take her in, he was prepared to put his prodigious mind to the problem of her magic – or lack thereof. She turned to him and beamed.

"Give me twenty minutes to pack and let the manager know I am leaving," she asked. "Then you can take me to Spinner's End." His eyebrow quirked as he realised that she knew where he lived. This was definitely a question he would address later.

After Hermione had her few possessions organised, Snape shrunk the bags and placed them in his pocket. She settled her account and tidied the room. Once again, she placed her arms around Snape's waist as he Side-Along Apparated them to Spinner's End.

As they entered the hidden house, Snape suddenly seemed ill at ease. Hermione looked at him and, in typical Gryffindor fashion, simply asked what was wrong.

"It's not much," he said diffidently, indicating the small living area and kitchen. "There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and a potions lab in the basement. I have never needed much here, as I used to spend all my time at Hogwarts. The place has been a little neglected over the years."

Hermione realised he was embarrassed about the state of his house. She smiled at him warmly, melting the ages-old ice around his heart and gave him yet another spontaneous hug. "I don't care what it looks like. It feels like home to me!"

***

A/N: Based on prompt 93. "Someone has his or her powers stripped away for misuse. Did he/she lose them because of actual misuse or was it a set up? How do they get them back?"