Six

July, 1998

"So, erm, how are you?"

Hermione smiled and nibbled a Chocolate Frog. "I'm fine, Harry. It's actually rather nice here in the summer. It's quiet. Hot, but the Cooling Charms have finally started to work."

Harry chuckled. "That will be nice. It's comfortable right now, at least," he observed.

Hermione nodded. "Minerva says that the castle is healing with a lot of help from the house-elves. They're very enthusiastic. Even when they're not being paid." She frowned at the picture of Dumbledore on the card. Dumbledore twinkled at her.

"Erm, yeah. Listen, Ron says he's sorry he can't come, but he's ... he's going to start helping George with the shop, and he says it's keeping him busy, and he can hardly get away." The words came out in a rush.

Hermione's face fell and an icy surge of disappointment sank through her stomach. "Oh," she said. "I'd hoped to see both of you."

"Yeah, well ..." Harry tried to smile and failed miserably.

"Yeah, well," Hermione echoed, trying to think of something to say.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd actually be able to, well, if it's not too much, to be able to come to the Burrow next week. I've asked Ginny to marry me, and Molly won't let us get married until Ginny finishes school, but she and Arthur said that we could be engaged, and so we're throwing a party," Harry blurted.

Hermione forced a smile to her face. Ron is just being Ron, she thought. He's not comfortable with me being ill. Out loud she said, "Harry! That's wonderful!" She sat up to hug her friend.

"So you'll come? Ginny misses you, I think, and Molly always talks about how you're like another daughter to her."

"I'd love to, Harry. But Madam Pomfrey will have to approve. My episodes haven't been improving, but I'd not miss the party for the world."

"Wicked," Harry expostulated. "It's going to be sort of a private victory celebration, too. Minerva's going to be there and all of our other friends, too. Bill and Fleur are even coming down. It was Bill and Charlie's idea, actually. Molly's been taking Fred's death really hard, and they thought they could try to cheer her up."

"By making her cater for hundreds?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"No! Kreacher and Winky and some of the Hogwarts elves are actually doing the catering – but being paid for it!" Harry hurried to explain as he caught sight of the set of Hermione's jaw.

"Oh, well, then. That's all right, I suppose."

Harry grinned. "Chocolate Frog?" he asked, offering another box.

"Thanks, but one is enough."

"Severus, it's time we talked about your future."

"It's lovely to see you again, Minerva. Is the Hospital Wing so far from the Headmistress' office that you haven't been able to visit?"

"Severus, don't be sarcastic."

"I'll be as I please. Was there something you wanted?" Snape flipped the page of Types of Curse Damage, Borgin and Brookshire, and ignored the impatient witch before him. Beside him, Hermione sat, curled into her chair, staring blankly ahead of her.

"Poppy informs me that you are making an excellent recovery. Have you considered what options you might wish to pursue this autumn?"

"I take it you are not offering me a position on your faculty?"

Minerva paused. Snape resisted the temptation to look up. Would this be it? His final sacking? Did Minerva have the Gobstones to go through with it?

"Would you care to return? I did not think that you would be interested after such a difficult year."

"How many owls have you received demanding my immediate removal?"

"I am not running a nursing home, Severus, nor am I interested in offering you unofficial asylum from Magical Law Enforcement. If you wish to reapply for your position as either Potions master or Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, your curriculum vitae must be on my desk by five pm tomorrow. Is that clear?" Minerva snapped.

"Explicitly so. Rest assured," Snape replied, "I will give due consideration to the potential working environment present at Hogwarts before I take any further action regarding my employment."

He didn't need to look to see Minerva's lips purse into her "dissatisfied" moue. The air crackled with her displeasure.

Tough kippers, you crotchety old tabby.

He waited until he heard her measured tread move towards the door before he glanced over at the catatonic Hermione.

"Now then," he said quietly, "where were we? Ah yes, here: 'the quality of memory loss due to self-inflicted damage can be wide-ranging, more so, in fact, than memory loss caused by external influences.' Interesting thought, Hermione, that if you'd done this to yourself, you might not be with us at all at the moment."

Hermione did not reply, and Snape continued his reading, ears alert to the whispered conversation being held in Poppy's office. Did the women not realize the acoustics in the Hospital Wing were perfect for eavesdropping?

"How long has this been going on?" Minerva was asking Poppy.

"About a week. Ever since Bill Weasley dropped off that pile of books. Severus has been reading to her during the hours that she has been catatonic."

"And when she's compos? The poor girl, cooped up in here with him."

"Be fair, dear. When she's with us, she's reading from the stack as well. Or talking to him about the other world she's inhabiting, or her childhood. Potter and Weasley have visited occasionally, but they don't stay long. He makes them nervous, ever since Severus turned down Potter's offer of lodging at Grimmauld Place."

"Hermione talks about her childhood?"

Poppy paused. Snape heard the clink of china and gurgle of tea being poured.

"There are differences between this reality and the dream world she seems to inhabit. In her dream world she has a sister."

There was another silence. Snape stiffened. Minerva couldn't possibly have found Albus' file on the girl, not yet, not the way it was stored.

"How extraordinary," Minerva said. "I think I will need to visit more often, to check on her progress."

"I know she'd love to see you, Minerva."

"Oh, Poppy, I know, it's been so difficult trying to put the pieces back together, though – I've only just convinced the house-elves to return, thanks entirely to Potter and his powers of persuasion over Winky."

Snape relaxed as the conversation moved away from the girl curled up beside him, hair afrizz in the July humidity. He needed to make a decision, and soon.

"She's not treating you very fairly," Hermione observed from her chair, causing him to start.

"Miss Granger, welcome back."

"You called me Hermione just now," she pointed out. "When you thought I was... away."

"What I call you when you are non compos mentis is my business and not yours."

"I doubt that."

"And how long have you been earwigging? Your mother would be ashamed of you, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled. "I began to come back when Professor McGonagall started scolding you."

"An apt description."

"But I couldn't seem to move until just now. Not like I was Petrified," she hastened on, "but as if I'd been asleep and just couldn't bear to wake up."

"And how do you feel now?"

Hermione yawned. "I'm not sure. Awake, but relaxed. Ready to try Legilimency again, if you're ... if you're willing."

Snape allowed a corner of his mouth to flutter in an approximation of a smile.

"Prepare yourself, then, Miss Granger," he replied.

She turned towards him and her light brown eyes met his.

Snape took a breath.

"Legilimens," he said.

This time, her mind was awake and active.

That tickles, sir, she protested.

He ignored her and began to sift through her memories of the last few hours. Unsurprisingly, there were blank spots. What was most disturbing, however, was the large gap in memory that seemed to begin when she was seven.

A little girl played with her dolls, reading to them, lecturing them.

"Hermione, darling." A woman entered the room carrying a pink-wrapped bundle. "Would you like to meet your little sist..."

The memory ended abruptly, cut off completely.

Intrigued, Snape pressed on, rifling through random memories of Muggle primary school, Christmases, summer holidays, and could not find a single other memory of the pink bundle or a sister.

Albus had done his job well. But could that have caused the current trauma?

Suddenly, an encroaching darkness swept over her mind, leaving Snape alone in the emptiness that he recognized from their earlier attempt.

But this time, he noticed a subtle difference, a flickering of thought, as if a weak fairy light still flickered on a Christmas garland.

Hermione drew a startled breath and looked around the pale green bedroom.

Home.

She was in her childhood bedroom. She was safe. Dr Gupta had finally allowed her to go home if she promised not to struggle, and to call him if had any problems.

Home. Thank Merl- Thank God.

Carefully, she looked around. The room had not changed in seven years. Mentally, she checked off each detail: the poster of Albert Einstein, the light pink duvet, her treasured stuffed orange cat – Crookshanks, the microscope holding pride of place on her desk, the bookshelves, creaking under the weight of their load, the picture of her and her parents from their holiday in Australia the year before Atalanta was born.

Where are Harry and Ron? There should be a picture of Harry and Ron right there. Wait, no. That was in the dream. Dr Gupta said that I needed to separate the fantasy from the reality.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement, as if somebody had just passed her open bedroom door.

"Dad?" she called, hurrying to the door.

But there was nobody in the hall.

"Curious," she mused, frowning. She was sure there had been somebody lurking just outside her bedroom door.

Shrugging philosophically, she walked back to her desk and picked up a brochure on the top of a sheaf of papers.

Coping With Memory Loss read the brochure.

Hermione sat on her bed and leafed through the brochure before hopping up to fetch a pencil and notepad. Lower lip between her teeth, she began to make notes.

Half an hour later, she threw the pencil down and sighed.

Severus would laugh, she thought. The tripe in this is worse than what Lockhart would write. I can't believe I had a crush on him. Professor Snape is so much more talented. And better spoken, too. Imagine, with a name like Gilderoy. Severus is so much more dignified.

She started out of her reverie. Was she crushing on her Potions professor?

No, Granger, you're crushing on a figment of your imagination.

"Shit," she muttered. "I have to get out of my head."

Atalanta poked her head around the doorframe.

"I heard you say a bad word," she announced. "I'm going to tell Mum."

Hermione raised her eyebrow expressively at her younger sister and did not reply.

Undeterred, Atalanta bounced down the stairs crying, "MUM! Hermione said a bad word! I heard her!"

Hermione snorted and returned to her notepad. She wanted to be sure to tell Severus everything she'd learned this afternoon. Perhaps she'd even be able to be well enough to attend Harry and Ginny's engagement party at the Burrow next week.

No, you want to tell Dr Gupta, not Severus.

Tears stung her eyes – it was so unfair that she'd have to sacrifice such hard-won friendships for the sake of the safety of reality.

But what sort of reality could it be? She had no education, no skills. What employer would want her? What University would take her?

I don't even have a single NEWT! No, wait, they're A-levels.

"Hermione!" Her mum's voice floated up the stairs. "It's time for your medication."

"Coming, Mum!" Hermione tossed aside her notes and hurried out of her room.

You'd have been a credit to your NEWT class, Miss Granger echoed through her head.

Hermione paused in the hall.

"Severus?" she asked.

"Hermione!" her mum's voice called again.

Just your imagination, she thought. Nothing more.

AN: Not mine, no money. Thanks to Subversa, Blusestocking, and Savine_Snape for thieir invaluable help!