Two

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JKR. I do not profit from writing this story.

Someone had been in her home; there was no doubt about that. That book hadn't been there when she and Ron were lounging about last night, and she'd been alone in the flat since then.

Midway through her turn, Hermione resisted the urge to send one more quelling glance in the direction of the seventh-year Potions text that she had never needed and therefore had never purchased. Of all things, a Hogwarts text to remind Hermione of her least favorite subject with the word 'FRAUD' scorched into the cover.

*** *** ***

The moment a twinge of trepidation spread in Hermione's gut at the sight of the castle, she raised her head, willing it away. She chastised herself for Apparating to Hogwarts without calming her mind or emotions. It had been only by chance that she had arrived in one piece.

This place made Hermione anxious, now. She hated that she couldn't fully understand why.

The walk across Hogwarts' lawn hadn't been as difficult as she had expected it to be... but the castle...

Seven flights of stairs was a long walk. Long enough for Hermione to compose herself. There was no possibility that she was going to succumb to full-blown panic before reaching the Headmaster's...Headmistress' office.

She wiped her sweating palms against her thighs, cursing herself as she rose with the winding stairs. All of these reactions she had been experiencing reinforced her belief that she should have confronted her past long before today. Once she reached the top, Hermione knocked on the door without hesitation.

"Enter," Minerva McGonagall called from the other side.

Carelessly throwing open the door, all color drained from Hermione's face, unprepared for the sight of Albus Dumbledore smiling down at her.

"Is everything all right, Hermione? I received your message just this very moment. I haven't seen your Patronus in so long that it..."

Of course his portrait would be on the wall. Hermione had always known that, but with the anxiety she had felt about returning to Hogwarts, Hermione hadn't prepared herself for the sight.

"I don't know. Nothing life-threatening...I hope... I mean, good day. How are you? Excuse me..."

Hermione couldn't greet Minerva sincerely because she couldn't take her eyes off the portraits. Spinning on the spot, Hermione eyed every photo with a growing sense of dread.

"Hermione?"

It was all finally starting to come together.

Hermione muttered a few intelligible words, sinking into one of the chairs with a hand clutched at her chest.

"I didn't catch that, dear?"

"Where is Professor Snape?"

The question visibly staggered Minerva, who whipped around to follow Hermione's glare at the wall.

"You're scaring me..."

"He was headmaster," Hermione croaked, at last meeting Minerva's eye. "Maybe not a very good one, but it was official. He should have a portrait."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hermione. You look ill." It was clear the Headmistress wasn't too concerned about this revelation. She rummaged in her drawer for a second before walking around her desk to sit by Hermione and force a chocolate bar into her hand.

Hermione absent-mindedly peeled away the foil wrapping. "What happened to him?"

"Did something occur before you came here? You must be working too hard again... Why are you looking at me like that? You know the answer to your own question, dear. You told me the story yourself. You know what happened to Snape. You saw him die."

"What happened to his body?"

Concerned, Minerva continued to inspect Hermione's stricken expression before her own mind finally processed the young woman's question. Minerva paled, sending a searching glace to Dumbledore's portrait...a portrait that was suddenly empty.

When Hermione couldn't take the silence any longer, she blurted out, "You don't know?"

Minerva swallowed uncomfortably before rising out of her seat.

"How can you not know!" Hermione accused the older woman once her back had turned. "Why didn't you go back?"

Minerva was appalled at her tone. She slammed her hand on the desk and snapped, "I wasn't the one who watched him die! Why didn't you?"

... Why didn't she?

Hermione's psyche had already collected the various excuses the second she had noticed Snape didn't have a headmaster's portrait. Excuses and justifications for her actions...or lack of actions to be more exact.

So many had died in such a short space of time... Fred... Tonks and Remus, she told herself.

Her stomach rolled as she quickly remembered things she hadn't acknowledged for the last six years.

An endless sea of black-cloaked mourners and the sickening scent of decaying flowers. While the rest of the wizarding world had been more than eager to enter the carefree existence of post-war opulence, Hermione and her friends had spent their time preparing funerals from the very day of Voldemort's demise.

That was a justified reason to forget about Snape... right?

And then there had been that horrid custody trial over Teddy. Anyone with a fraction of blood belonging to either Remus' or Tonk's bloodlines fought for the chance to legally own the child who was to be the famous Harry Potter's godson.

But that's all it was. Excuses. Repulsive excuses.

"I think I should go..."

"Wait, Hermione. Let's talk about this."

"Later. I'll Floo. I really need some air."

Hermione left the castle feeling worse than when she had entered. Coming back to this part of her past was a day in the park compared to where she was going next.

Lifting her face in the air, Hermione concentrated on the reviving breeze as she willed her nausea to run its course.

What did this mean? Was Snape still alive? Or had his death been so horrid that his soul was too cursed to warrant a Hogwarts portrait?

Maybe without a proper burial, his soul had never rested. Such tales might have been considered myths in the Muggle world, but Hermione knew it to be a wizarding fact.

Hermione dreaded the idea of finding out, but she needed to. The need for answers to these questions pulled her; somehow, she knew she would find them at the Shrieking Shack.

*** *** ***

The old tales of ghosts and ghouls may have kept the Muggles away from the Shrieking Shack, but it had effectively scared witches and wizards as well.

As long as Hermione had lived with such creatures within the walls of Hogwarts, she still couldn't prevent the hair on the back of her neck from rising at the idea of being alone with one.

Slowly walking through the deteriorating building, Hermione wished her agitated thoughts would silence for a moment.

What if Snape was a ghost?

It was a solid possibility. Not one single portrait in the Headmistress' office also existed as a ghost.

If Snape was a ghost, was she prepared to confront it?

Hermione clenched her eyes, bracing her back against the decaying-papered wall. The room where she had watched Nagini attack Snape was only two doors down. Was she prepared to see this?

I had forgotten him.

A heart-wrenching sob began to strain the breathing in her chest. Even after learning about everything he had sacrificed thanks to the memories he had given Harry... she... they all had forgotten him. Could she face an accusatory ghost?

Worst of all, could she stand to see the wretched remains of his body?

"I'm so sorry... Forgive me," Hermione whispered to herself. She didn't fully believe that he could hear her from... wherever he was now. But simply feeling it wasn't enough; it had to be said.

Pushing herself away from the wall, Hermione paused right before the door. Her arm hesitated in the air. There was something wet smeared across the door frame and handle.

Blood.

Wrapping her robes around her fist, Hermione carefully turned the slick doorknob.

A wet, foul carcass fell from above the door. It swung violently from a rope tied around its neck. She screamed, unable to keep the gutted cat from hitting her in the face.

Hermione threw herself further into the room to put distance between herself and the stench. Her hands patted everywhere, wiping hysterically at the wetness on her neck and chest...until she finally remembered where she was.

A relieved exhale burst out of her chest when she noticed the absence of a ghost or any evidence of a skeleton on the floor.

It appeared totally abandoned, even more so for a dilapidated structure. No one had entered this room in years. The realization of that weighed on her heart. She hadn't wanted to see such things, but at least it would have given her the answers she yearned for.

That was when she noticed two trails of blood on the floor. One that led to her, and one... Hermione followed the sporadic drops until it ended a few steps from where she was standing against the wall.

A strong wind gusted through the exposed rafters, sending an unspeakably familiar piece of black cloth fluttering over her shoulder.

"No..." she cried.

Hermione carefully turned around... She had forgotten how to breathe.

An old cloak had been spread out and pinned to the wall. It was black... and the neck-line was ripped savagely. It was smeared with old stains and fresh blood.

Hermione had never been a weak witch, but the stress of the day had been too much, even for her. Before her knees buckled and everything went black, she wished she hadn't seen the words smeared with blood that read, 'WELCOME BACK!'

Author's Notes: Poor Hermione... Much more to come.