The Valley of Lost Souls

Snape was not in the kitchen when Hermione came down for lunch, but a plate of sandwiches had been placed on the table, a kettle was on the stove, and a tea service sat on the counter next to it. She ate alone and returned to her room.

Dinner was a repeat of lunch – she found the kitchen deserted, a pot of warm stew and the ever present teakettle on the stove. This time she lingered for as long as she dared, hoping that Snape would join her. She had spent the day alone in her room, with little to do but think of the shelves filled with books that she had seen the previous day. Most literature was forbidden to hand-witches, and Muggleborns in general, but she had hoped to ask Snape if he had something she could read – a Herbology journal perhaps, or even a copy of Witch Weekly would have served to stave off the boredom at this point, although she doubted that Snape kept one of those around.

The company in her other placements had been less than congenial, but the isolation here was brutal. Most pure-bloods' homes were hives of social activity, and there she had been the main attraction – an exotic pet to be displayed in their elegant salons. Here, the silence and solitude were like a giant abyss to be filled with all kinds of meandering thoughts, memories and longings. She wondered how Snape coped. But then, he wasn't confined to a couple of rooms, or even to the house itself. For all she knew, the man wasn't home at all.

The temptation to explore the forbidden corridors beckoned, but her rationality prevailed. There was no way of telling what sort of 'precautions' Snape had taken to protect his home, and without a wand, she would be at the mercy of the man's peculiar, if brilliant, ingenuity.

It was close to midnight when it became obvious that Snape would not make an appearance, and Hermione abandoned the kitchen for her room.

After a fitful night of tossing in her bed, she awoke earlier than usual and used the extra time to take a long shower. She had stepped out of the bathroom and was about to put on her robes, when she noticed a light green jar on the table next to the bed. Next to the jar was a small piece of parchment with a note scribbled on it.

For your arms, and anywhere else you might need it.

Don't throw it away!

Hermione unscrewed the lid on the jar and smelled the contents. She caught a faint whiff of Juniper, but the ointment was for the most part unscented. She applied it liberally over her arms and lower legs, since her undergarments protected the rest of her body. The relief was instantaneous. She dressed quickly and hurried for the kitchen, hoping to catch Snape before he disappeared to wherever he went during the day.

Voices from inside the parlor brought her to a sudden halt. One of the voices was Snape's; the other was unsettlingly familiar.

"I don't expect you to know this, Severus, given your past history of self-imposed celibacy, but witches are delicate creatures that require a great deal of care and attention if they are to be kept – cooperative. Boiled dinners and the occasional Scourgify on the bed-sheets will not do."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," said Snape. "Take for instance your sister-in-law; she is practically a Magnolia."

"Bella is... special," said Malfoy with a chuckle.

Hermione tried to make sense of the conversation – were they laughing at Bellatrix? Maybe if she could see the two wizards... The door to the parlor was ajar, and Hermione crept closer to lean against the wall and peer around the corner. She couldn't see Snape from her vantage point, but Malfoy Senior sat on a high-back chair close to the window, his pale fingers caressing a porcelain teacup.

"In any case, I must tell you that I find the way you live appalling," Malfoy commented, casting a contemptuous glance around the room. "Trust me, Severus, you will thank me later."

Hermione wasn't certain what brought on her sudden sense of indignation, other than perhaps Malfoy's superior manner, which reminded her too much of his son. Her meals had been simple and bland, but sufficient, and Snape's house was far from sumptuous, but it was clean – for the most part.

Lucius set down his cup and rose from the chair. His elegant robes made a soft swishing sound as he moved around the room.

"But there are other, more pressing matters that bring me here this morning. You gave poor Wishington quite a scare the other day. The man looked in need of a sedative when he came into my office."

"I gave him no more, and no less, than he deserved, I'm sure."

All mirth had left Severus' voice, and Hermione sensed a distinct change in his mood, although she was not sure what had caused it. If Malfoy had noticed, he was unaffected.

"He did mention that you referred to your new hand-witch as 'Miss Granger.' I seem to recall someone by that name, an old schoolmate of my son's, if I'm not mistaken. We wouldn't happen to be talking about the same person, would we?"

Hermione tensed, and she crouched next to the door frame, trying to get a better view inside the parlor. Before Snape could answer, she was startled by a loud, high-pitch voice coming from behind her. "Miss be wanting her breakfast now?"

Hermione whirled around, index finger pressed firmly against her lips, but it was too late. The house-elf's large, hopeful eyes shifted to a point above her head, and Hermione caught a glimpse of swaying black robes by her side.

"Spying, Miss Granger? Some habits do die harder than others, I suppose."

Hermione straightened. "I wasn't... I didn't... I was hoping I may have a word with you this morning, sir."

Snape's eyes flitted to Malfoy, who stood back, watching the exchange with a strange mixture of amusement and surprise on his face.

"Proceed to the kitchen. I will join you shortly," Snape indicated to Hermione.

Hermione nodded and rushed past Snape, but could not resist a rebellious glare in Malfoy's direction just before she snuck into the kitchen. No sooner had the door closed behind her that the kitchen was shrouded in silence, and Hermione knew that a Silencing Charm had been cast on the adjacent room.

In contrast with the previous morning, the kitchen sparkled with early morning sunshine, and the table was set with a white linen cloth and a vase filled with flowers. The delicious aroma of bacon and jam filled the air, and the old teakettle had been replaced with a porcelain one. The crack of Apparition was surprising in the total silence, and Hermione jumped when the tiny elf appeared next to her.

"Miss be wanting her breakfast now?"

Hermione took a seat at the table and nodded to the house-elf. "I would like that very much, thank you." If she was going to endure a harsh and painful punishment at Snape's hands later that morning, there was no sense in doing it with an empty stomach.

Plates and utensils zoomed through the air, and a few minutes later Hermione was closing her lips around a forkful of some of the fluffiest, most delicious scrambled eggs she had ever tasted.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude. What's your name?" she asked the elf after the third bite.

"I be Fritzlee, Miss," the elf answered as a tea service floated delicately onto the table.

Hermione reached for the teapot, but before she could grab it, it rose from the table and began to pour itself. "I didn't realize that Snape kept any house-elves," she commented, watching her cup fill with hot liquid.

"Master Snape keep no house-elves, Miss. I be Master Malfoy's elf. Master Malfoy say Miss need looking after."

Fritzlee's statement put part of the conversation she had overheard earlier into context, although she doubted that Snape was ever going to thank Malfoy for bringing a house-elf into his home.

The door banged open and Snape swept into the room, stopping short to look around the kitchen.

"Master Snape be wanting his breakfast now?" Fritzlee asked hopefully.

"I seem to have lost my appetite this morning," Snape ground out.

He swept around the table to face Hermione. "Never again while in my home will you pull a stunt like the one you did today!" he yelled.

"Then tea, perhaps?" Fritzlee interrupted.

Snape started to shake his head, but seemed to reconsider. "Tea will be fine," he snapped at the house-elf.

"You have no idea of the amount of aggravation you've caused me, Miss Granger..."

"Sugar?" said Fritzlee.

"No!" Snape slammed his hand down on the table. The dishes rattled, and hot tea sloshed over the tablecloth.

Hermione watched the stain spread across the pristine white surface. Her breakfast sat before her, all but forgotten. Fritzlee disappeared with a loud crack, and Hermione fought the overpowering feeling of abandonment – she knew there was nothing the house-elf could do to protect her from Snape's wrath.

"I wasn't spying, sir. I came down early hoping to speak with you. When I heard Malfoy's voice in the parlor, I didn't know what I was supposed to do." It was mostly true.

"Do not lie to me! You're as ungrateful as the rest of them!" Snape hollered.

She was going to cry. She didn't want to, and she knew that it would only make him angrier, but the tears welled inexorably in her eyes.

"Sir, you don't want me here any more than I want to be; why don't you just let me go?" she offered feebly.

Snape glared down the beak of his nose at her, and his eyes glinted with malice. "Let you go, you say? Intriguing proposition. And where, pray tell, would you go?"

"Exile," she stated firmly. "I heard what Wishington said. If you return me to the Ministry, the order of banishment will be reinstated and I will be sent away, and you would be rid of me."

"Oh, you make it so tempting, Miss Granger. There's only one snag in your exceptional plan."

"What's that, sir?" Hermione asked in a small voice, not certain that she wanted to hear the answer.

"There is no exile, you stupid girl!"

Snape was lying; he had to be. She had read the news in the Daily Prophet when the mandate was first instated: Exile from the Wizarding World for All Undesirables, the headline had read. Percy Weasly had been one of the first to be banished, along with Colin Creevey. She had known many over the years, including several hand-witches and even a few pure-bloods, who had been sent away. They all must have gone somewhere.

"I don't believe you," she challenged.

"Then I see only one way to disabuse you of your childish notions. Fritzlee!"

The house-elf appeared, wringing her long fingers nervously. "Master Snape be wanting...?"

"Miss Granger's cloak, now!"

"Yes, sir."

Hermione tried to speak, ask where they were going, but before she could formulate any words, Fritzlee was back carrying a brown, wool cloak. Hermione donned it with trembling fingers.

She followed Snape outside. The morning was bright and crisp. A brisk wind rustled the grass, but it wasn't cold enough for her heavy cloak. They walked a few meters away from the house to a line of trees near a stream. Without warning, Snape wrapped an arm around her.

"Stay close, and don't fidget," he instructed.

She felt her stomach drop, and her body was whisked away into the turbulence of side-along Apparition.

When they came to a stop, it looked like nightfall. At first she couldn't see anything. A frigid wind whipped her cloak about her, and a dense fog hovered round her feet. Snape stood close behind her, wand in hand. The wind abated, and the fog parted to reveal that they stood on the edge of a cliff. Below, a dark forest stretched as far as her eyes could see. It undulated and swayed, and a strange noise like moans filled her ears. The fog continued to retreat, and Hermione realized with a sinking horror that she was looking not at trees, but people – hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people – their tattered robes hanging like foliage from emaciated limbs, their diaphanous bodies swaying violently as in a futile effort to uproot themselves from the ground that held them captive.

Hermione took a step back and collided with Snape's solid shape.

"Where are we, what is this place?" she asked.

"This, Miss Granger, is your exile – the Valley of Lost Souls."

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the gruesome landscape. "I don't understand, are they...?"

"Dead? In a manner of speaking. For most, their bodies are long gone, rotted into the soil. Only their souls remain here, trapped for all eternity."

"All of them, all those people, sent away for petty crimes and misconduct...?" she whispered.

"Nothing is petty in the eyes of the Dark Lord, Miss Granger. The Wall of Traitors – that was just a demonstration, a spectacle for the masses. Here, in exile, is where the real punishment begins."

"You've known about this and have done nothing to stop it?"

Hermione felt Snape shrug behind her. "What do you suggest, a strongly worded letter of complaint to the Dark Lord? Although it is my understanding that petitions and badges are more your style."

She couldn't accept that there was nothing to be done for the condemned souls before her, but when she searched for a solution, she came up empty handed, and suddenly a more horrific thought occurred to her. She could have been one of them.

"Why did you do it? I insulted you and intentionally provoked you. Why did you save me?"

"I was under the impression that you wanted to live, Miss Granger, but perhaps I was mistaken."

A wail pierced the darkness, and Hermione fought the urge to weep. She ran a hand over her cheek to wipe away the wetness there.

"No. You were right, I do want to live."

Snape moved closer, until his chest was flush against her back and his breath ghosted over her ear. "Even if it means suffering my attentions?"

Hermione almost laughed at how bitterly absurd her own words sounded coming from his lips, for she was certain that there was nothing Snape could to her that would compare to the torment inflicted on those souls in the valley below.

"Yes," she answered simply. "Please, let's go home."

That night, Hermione's dreams were plagued with images of her friends, their mouths agape in silent screams, their hands clawing desperately at the air while their bodies were swallowed by the earth, and she among them.