Four

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

Author's Notes: Story beta'ed by the brilliant melusin.

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

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!'

*** *** ***

Severus had been waiting in the shadows of the school hospital wing for hours.

He had expected Hermione to have woken up by now, regardless of the strong dose of Dreamless Sleep that had been forced down the young woman's throat.

Despite how much time had passed, he would gladly wait a few hours longer just to observe any additional dismayed reactions she could gift him with.

Reactions like the beautiful pitch her screams had reached when she had found his gift at the Shrieking Shack.

Snape hadn't been surprised when Hermione had decided to return to Hogwarts the moment she'd discovered the book he had left on her patio chair. Given everything he had heard her say to Weasley the night before, her desire to seek answers at her old school was predictable.

After all these years, Snape finally had a justification for saving his old 'death' robes. He knew he would find a use for them one day.

Severus scowled, suddenly remembering her pathetic apology before she had entered the room.

You haven't even begun to feel sorry yet...

A long, rasping groan issued from the bed in question.

Snape stilled his breathing, pressing his face against the warded curtain he had been hiding behind. Leaning back, he allowed one eye to peak around the charmed cloth.

"She's waking..." Madam Pomfrey breathed loudly to herself.

The nurse fled from the hospital wing only to return minutes later with McGonagall on her heels.

Snape scoffed at the sight of his ex-fellow Order member fussing about the girl's bed.

"Hermione..."

The girl hummed bizarrely in response, her sweat-drenched brow furrowed in confusion.

"Can you understand me? Open your eyes for me, dear, and look at me."

"She needs to sleep it off some more, Minerva."

"It's been nine hours, already... Hermione, focus now."

Hermione's curly head shook from side to side before she finally managed to blink a few times. "What... where am I?"

"You're in the hospital wing, dear."

"Mungos?"

"Er... no. Hogwarts."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched at the young woman's immediate response. She sharply pushed herself to sit up in bed and glanced around with obvious disbelief. "Impossible..."

"Do you remember how you got here?"

"No. The last thing I remember was the robes... Shrieking Shack..."

Both older ladies exchanged worried glances, and Snape was very pleased to already know why.

"How did I end up in the hospital wing?"

"We were hoping you could tell us how you ended up on the floor of the Entrance Hall."

Hermione blinked once before demanding, "What?"

"You had banged your head pretty badly, but it wasn't serious. Poppy took your vitals, and it appeared you'd only suffered a minor concussion... and stress."

"I was in the Shrieking Shack. I found..."

Minerva was quick to pat Hermione's blanket, talking loudly over her words with smoothing shushing noises. "Yes, yes, dear. We... heard."

"I don't understand." Hermione wasn't concerned with masking her impatience.

Madam Pomfrey promptly followed the Headmistress' lead and tentatively added, "I think Mr. Ron Weasley wanted to be notified when she came to. I'll go and Floo him now."

"Ron..." Hermione breathed to herself.

Minerva drew herself to her full height, turning in the direction of the exit. "I'll give you two some time to... talk. I believe Madam Pomfrey would be pleased if you could at least stay here 'till morning. If you still want to discuss things after you speak to him... Well, come and see me tomorrow morning in my office, either way."

Severus thrived at the sight of Hermione shooting irritated glances at the backs of both women...whose uneasiness had been utterly apparent. The nurse rose from the hearth, ducking her head to avoid the girl's questioning expression, and disappeared into her office.

"Hermione?" Weasley called from the flames.

"Ron!" Hermione scampered out of bed, flinging herself onto the rug in front of the fire.

Snape raised an eyebrow, devilishly amused. Rearranging her hospital gown had not been one of the young woman's foremost concerns, gifting Snape with an eyeful of navy blue knickers.

"Are you all right? You had me scared shitless."

"Yes... I believe so. Oh, Ron, you won't believe what happened..."

Ron sighed loudly. "You'll only have to stay the night. You can go back home tomorrow, and then we can talk."

"Wait... Don't you want to know...?"

"Minerva's already told me."

"Minerva?"

"You were hysterical as they carried you to the hospital wing. Shouting something about... well..."

"Snape's robes, Ron," Hermione answered calmly, as if she finally understood what everyone had been skirting around. "I found the robes he died in..."

"There was nothing there, Hermione."

Snape closed his eyes, relishing the silence that passed before she slowly asked, "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"Nothing. No robes. No blood or cat. There were no other footprints in the dust beside your own."

"I know what I saw," Hermione responded confidently.

"Please don't get upset. I'm just telling you what the Aurors found... didn't find."

"I know what I saw," she repeated with even more conviction.

"You're tired, love. This is exactly why I didn't want you to go back to Hogwarts! And the Shrieking Shack! What were you thinking?"

"Look, Ron, I can understand why you can't come back, but I'm actually glad I did."

Ron erred on the side of caution, his tone admitting defeat. "I just want you to feel better. I am worried, but aside from all that, I'm relieved you're not seriously hurt. We'll talk about this later."

Hermione tsked under her breath. Averting her gaze, she shook her head slightly. Snape could see she wasn't anywhere near crying, but her grief was undeniable. "No, we won't," she whispered. It wasn't a reprimand to Weasley but more of a sudden revelation to herself.

"I love you... bye."

His face impassive, Snape drew the collar of his cloak higher around his neck while he intently watched Hermione drag her body back onto the bed.

Snape could see it all on her face. Hermione was certain, without a doubt, that she had seen exactly what everyone else thought to be unfeasible.

But Snape had been very effective in destroying any and all evidence soon after he had silently deposited her unconscious body on the steps of the castle.

The effort, time, and planning had been worth it. She had certainly been giving him a fill of all the emotions Snape had wanted to see from her. Fear, guilt, despair... now loneliness.

It was obvious she needed comfort, but her friends and fiancé had been too uncomfortable to stay around long enough for fear of her speaking the improvable. There was no evidence that the disgusting things Hermione had found ever took place, and with the emotional blindness that was running rampant within the wizarding community, no one would take her word for it.

As Hermione clutched the pillow to her chest, Snape barely caught her faint whisper to herself. "That can only mean the book is gone, too."

Snape's unresponsiveness to her grief altered into amusement at her words.

Yes, it does.

*** *** ***

Hermione had been having one of those horrid, half-conscious dreams again. She knew she was in the Hogwarts hospital wing, and she knew her senses had been heavily dosed with Dreamless Sleep.

It must have been brewed wrong, Hermione reasoned, because she had been dreaming very vividly.

What does it all mean? She couldn't stop asking herself that question, awake or asleep.

Did Snape have a family member or an old flame who was targeting Hermione for the hideous act she had carelessly committed?

Or was Snape still alive and tormenting her?

"Impossible." She continuously muttered to herself throughout the night, stirring restlessly against the bed, painfully tangling her limbs within the sheets. "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..."

Hermione couldn't stop saying it. She somehow believed the more it was spoken, somehow... Snape would hear.

A cool finger brushed her sweaty hair away from her ear. Hermione felt no fear; it was only a dream. She exhaled in relief at the comfort of human contact. "Please," she begged, unsure of what exactly she wanted.

Hot air blew against her temple. A deep voice whispered with measured precision, "I don't forgive you." It was soft but very clear.

Hermione cried, willing her mind to fight the sedative effects of the potion. She knew he wasn't really there. Either way, she thrilled at the sound of a voice she hadn't heard in so long. "Professor..." his title hissed out of her mouth, her speech pained with the realization of how she actually missed addressing him. "Professor Snape..."

What felt like seconds later...but it could have been hours...Hermione had finally been able to wake clear-minded.

His voice...

"Professor?" Hermione called, searching the hospital wing with desperate eyes.

His voice had sounded so real. But the very idea of it could not be feasible...

"I'm here, Hermione," Minerva called, voice alarmed. "Everything's going to be all right."

Hermione sagged back against the bed, suddenly feeling empty.

*** *** ***

"Harry Potter, please," Hermione commanded to the Ministry receptionist manning a small desk right outside a door that led to the various offices within.

The slightly older witch glanced back and forth between the young woman dressed in smart robes standing before her and the cover of the magazine in her hand.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. She unceremoniously snatched the magazine from the witch's limp grasp while reaching over to pluck one of the quills littering her teased hair. Scratching a signature over her own picture, Hermione drawled, "Mr. Potter, please... Miss?"

"Miss Creevey!" the woman shrieked in excitement.

Hermione cringed.

"I'm sorry. I'm new. Sure thing. Just one moment!"

The receptionist never got her chance. Just at that instant, the lift opened, and Harry stepped out surrounded by his usual gaggle of simpering minions.

"Hermione!" He greeted her warmly, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and urging her to walk with them.

"Did you get my message?"

"Ah, yes. I did. How are you feeling by the way? I heard what happened yesterday. I wanted to come and visit you but..."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. But this is really important."

"Mr. Potter, please!" A squat man under an obscenely long hat whined. "The Mesopotamia Goblins have already put in their bid, and if we don't–"

Harry sighed, waving his hand irritably. "Yes, yes. I've already spoken to Gringotts." Turning to Hermione, Harry grabbed both of her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I must attend to this. Why don't you call Ginny and arrange a dinner date, hmm?"

Hermione's only response was an emotionless stare. As Harry was about to turn away from her, she called after him in mock casualness. "Dinner sounds lovely, Harry, but I don't think it would be a proper atmosphere to discuss the matter of Severus Snape."

The numerous appalled expressions sent in her direction served their purpose. Harry excused himself from his underlings and motioned Hermione to a nearby office.

"What are you doing?" he demanded once the door closed. "Are you crazy?"

"According to you and Ron, that's the only explanation, isn't it?"

"They found nothing, okay? Nothing!"

Hermione smirked slightly, throwing up her hands in surrender. "That's fine. I wasn't planning on proving anything or telling anyone about it, either. I'm willing to let it go."

"Thank goodness." Harry exhaled, relaxing against the desk.

"I just want you to do one thing."

"What?" he asked slowly. Harry's sense of foreboding had been justified.

"I want a memorial erected at Hogwarts that specifically states Severus Snape's many deeds and the circumstances leading to and causing his death."

"WHAT?"

Hermione calmly folded her arms across her chest. "We both know he deserves it." She edged her back against the door, making it clear she wasn't about to let him leave until this issue had been resolved.

"It's too late," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "No one wants to reminisce about the war. You know that."

"Who cares what everyone else wants or what they think! We forgot about him, Harry. After everything we knew about Snape in the end, doesn't the very idea that we could do such a thing disgust you?"

"I don't even have the power to force such a thing. I'm not the Minister. I'm not even head of the Auror Office."

"Everyone listens to you, and you know it... Please, Harry."

"Giving him a memorial after all this time will raise far too many questions." Harry turned from her as he said this, unable to stomach her accusing glare.

"Fine. He needs to be remembered one way or the other. I'll just contact the Quibbler and let them know that Harry Potter and his two side-kicks never bothered to recover the body of a man who had been The-Boy-Who-Lived's constant ally against Voldemort!"

Harry took a step back, stung. "Don't you see? That's going to be revealed either way."

"At least you'd get credit for the memorial," Hermione hissed over her shoulder before exiting the office and slamming the door with all her might.

*** *** ***

"I waited for over an hour."

Hermione jumped back at the unexpected outraged voice. She had been digging in her bag for her keys, unaware that Ron had been standing by the entrance to her flat.

He leaned against the mail boxes, glaring with fists stabbed into his pockets.

"Sorry?" Hermione blinked.

"I said, I've been waiting at the assembly hall for over an hour. We had an appointment, remember? To meet the band?"

Hermione furrowed her brow.

"For our wedding!"

"Merlin! Goodness, I'm so sorry, Ron! It slipped my mind." Hermione clutched at his arm, sincerely appalled by her behavior.

"You've been doing a lot of that lately."

"Oh, love, I don't want to argue. Today has been horrid."

Ron closed his mouth, following her into the flat before resuming the conversation. Inhaling deeply, Ron removed his cloak and turned to her with an expectant expression.

"Wait here," Hermione whispered, tapping her hand against his chest.

"What?"

Hermione shushed him with unrestrained exasperation. "Just wait by the door while I look around for a bit."

She left a gaping Ron as she went from room to room, searching for any other surprises that might have been waiting for her. When Hermione had come home from Hogwarts, a part of her hadn't been surprised to discover that the Potions text was no longer sitting on her patio chair.

Her initial reaction had been relief; she really hadn't wanted to touch it. But then followed the recognition that someone or something had been in her flat–again–in order to remove it.

This obviously wasn't over, yet.

"Hermione! This is the third time you've done this. We need to talk."

"Not now, Ron," she called from her bedroom. As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed.

"Excuse me? What is going on with you, lately?"

Hermione didn't answer.

"Fine. Call me when you do want to talk."

Hermione closed the patio door, running back into the room. "No, Ron don't..." The front door slammed before she could reach it. "... leave."

She sighed, rightfully feeling guilty for the way she had just handled that. Her relationship with Ron wasn't doing very well, and they both knew it. But her personal struggles were just as crucial, if not more so. She was being harassed in the most disgusting way possible, and no one had been willing to believe her, never mind help.

The wedding could wait.

Hermione took her time in the shower. After shaving her legs, she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, groaning while massaging her scalp. She had lingered under the hot water longer than necessary, obsessed with the goings on of the last couple of days.

An unruly sound vibrated in her bedroom.

Hermione stood painfully still under the water, her ears burning for any additional sounds, but her limbs were too nervous to turn off the water. She wished her heart rate would steady, clearing her mind enough to think. Not possible...

She had warded every inch of her flat. No one could enter without express permission. Ron's key wouldn't even work if he had tried.

Turning off the shower, Hermione cursed at the realization that her wand wasn't in the bathroom. She had left it in the bedroom after warding the patio door.

Something was wrong. She could sense it. Thrusting open the bathroom door, Hermione jumped back quickly in anticipation of a potential attack. When no foreign sights or sounds reached Hermione from where she was standing, she tentatively edged into the bedroom, clutching a towel tight against her body.

This time, Hermione was better prepared for the sight of those robes again. There was no question that these were the exact same set... the faded black... the tearing around the collar.

Except, thankfully, this time they were clean.

And spread out on her bed.

Hermione refused to take her eyes off them while she blindly fumbled for her wand on the bedside table. With a few flicks of her wrist, Hermione gathered that the robes were harmless...at least physically.

Tears had begun to well in her eyes, catching her off guard. That feeling she had experienced at the Shack rushed back with such intensity. Just the sight of his robes filled her with poignant heaviness. It distracted her from the important question of why.

Cautiously placing her knee on the bed, Hermione released the grip on her towel and gathered the tattered cloak and robes to her chest. The peculiarity of her impulse was already palpable to Hermione, but it hadn't restricted her from pressing her nose into the frayed collar.

An uneven exhale burst from her lungs. It still smelled richly of the Potions lab.

As she pressed this forbidden and yet beautifully friendly material against her bare skin, Hermione finally understood what had been so troubling, and why she'd been reacting the way she had to these harassments. More importantly, why she'd welcomed the bitter-sweet reminders more than she had feared the unknown perpetrator.

"I never mourned you," Hermione whispered wretchedly into the robes.

A strange uproar pulled Hermione from her grief; every light in her house went out simultaneously. With the sun already setting outside and her eyes ill-adjusted, Hermione's flat was thrown into total darkness.

Hermione's nerves were on fire. That had been the moment when she noticed the heavy breathing issuing from a chair in the corner of the room.

The shadowed outline of a... man quietly watched her in uneasy silence.

"That wasn't the reaction I wanted. Make the next one better..."

Before Hermione could comprehend the horrifying statement, the figure lunged at her.

*** *** ***

Author's Notes: Yikes! Only one chapter left...