Eleven

August, 1998

"I trust, Potter, that this experiment in the magic of the mind will have different results than the last attempt we made?" Snape asked the youth sitting in the other wing back chair in his quarters.

"Yes, sir – er... Severus." Potter squirmed, much to Snape's glee.

"As long as we understand each other."

"Of course, Severus."

"Satisfactory. You understand, of course, that there will be no gratuitous emotional outbursts from you regarding either of your parents."

"Yes, Severus."

"And there will be no snooping where you are not welcome. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Severus."

"Very well." Snape could not suppress the smirk – baiting Potter had been easy enough when he was a child – baiting him as an alleged adult was even more satisfying, especially as the youth was still in the throes of hero worship. Dying and, in the process, spewing out his embarrassing memories of Lily had, apparently, served a purpose.

"What ... what would you like me to do?" Potter fidgeted with his hair and glasses – some habits apparently died hard: the boy was still intimidated. Excellent.

"Your task, as I see it, Potter," Snape purred, "will be to help Miss Granger restore her full mental capacity through the judicious application of Legilimency. In short, you will be retrieving her memories, her intellect, her very self, which I believe is buried somewhere within her consciousness. Is this comprehensible to you, Potter? Or am I going too fast?" He lifted an eyebrow.

Potter nodded. "You're saying that Hermione is still in there, but that this curse, the Unde Orieris, is doing something to ..." His brow furrowed in thought. "To hide her?"

"In a sense, Potter." Snape nodded and steepled his fingers, pressing the tips to his lips. "Perhaps you are not quite as unlettered as you appear."

He had the distinct satisfaction of watching the fire of indignation flare in Potter's eyes when something very interesting happened. Potter grinned at him.

"Nice one," Potter said. "You certainly know exactly what to say, don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Snape feigned innocence to hide his surprise.

"You're still trying to rile me – to provoke me." Potter smiled. "It's ... I'm sorry, Severus, it's not going to work. I know you work on hating me – but don't you think that bygones should be bygones?"

"Potter, what in Merlin's name are you burbling about?"

"Hermione once pointed out that most of what you did was to keep me from completely flying off the broom. And, of course because you hated my father." Potter ducked his head apologetically. "It's totally understandable, too. But after everything we've been through – all the battles, all the bitterness - don't you think, well, let's start by you calling me 'Harry' and accepting my apology for, well, being a boy." Potter stood and extended his hand.

Snape stared at him in wild surmise. Was the little twerp actually trying, in his limited, puerile way, to bury the hatchet? It certainly appeared to be the case. Snape allowed himself to smile.

"Well, then, Harry," he said. "If you can keep your mind where it belongs, any outpouring of emotionalism to yourself, and pay attention, you might just be able to save your friend's life." He took the proffered hand.

Harry's grin got wider.

"Anything you say, Severus."

Snape repressed a sigh. Merlin save him from Gryffindor enthusiasm. With a friend like this, he reflected, who needs a Dark Lord ... or Albus?

"Well then," he ground out, "let us begin. The magic of Legilimency relies on three factors..."

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was still in her childhood bedroom. This time, however, she was tucked into a comfortable chair by her window, which looked out onto the back garden – a peaceful suburban oasis.

"I thought you might like it," Jocasta said gently. Hermione turned. "Even if you can't always see it, I like to think that somehow, you can."

"Mum," Hermione said, smiling. "Thank you."

Hermione? A familiar voice echoed in her mind.

Jocasta moved across the room and enfolded her daughter in a tight embrace.

"Mum," Hermione said again, relief flooding through her. "I love you so much." Every time she awoke, the constant worry, the fear, crept into her very marrow: Where are my parents? Are they safe? Will they even know me?

"I love you too, darling. And I'm so glad you're here," Jocasta murmured.

Hermione? Are you there?

"I'm glad too. Did I ever tell you that in ... in the other place, I don't have you?"

Jocasta knelt. "You did, once – right when you began to recover. You said something about Australia."

Hermione nodded. "I had to ... I had to send you away; it was too dangerous in England."

"Well," Jocasta said, smiling brightly through the tears that welled up in her eyes, "as you can clearly see, my darling girl, I'm here, your father's here, and even Atalanta."

"I know," Hermione replied pressing her curly head to the top of her mother's, "and it's wonderful. Perfect, in fact. My family's here – but Mum, I ..."

"Yes, darling?"

"I wonder, as I recover, what am I to do in this world?"

"Do?"

Hermione nodded – she remembered worrying about this before her last relapse into the magical world. "What skills do I have?"

Hermione! Please! Answer me! Are you all right?

Was that Harry?

"Well," Jocasta began slowly, "you were always a bright girl. And there are programs to help you – perhaps we can look into some further education programs."

Further education? After six years at Hogwarts, why would she need further education? Oh ...

"You can still get your A-Levels," her mother continued. "I've been gathering brochures, and the college of further education can help. You don't even need GCSE's – but they will want to interview you."

Hermione nodded. It was, she supposed, a logical course of action. And if I'm stuck here, I might as well make the most of it. I suppose I can always use my Arithmancy skills in accounting or something. Oh, God. Accounting.

Her mother was still talking. "And before that, you could always work."

"Work?"

"Not yet, of course." Jocasta sat back on her heels. "But when you're ready. The catalogs and Dr Gupta both say that you would need some acclimatization to the real world first. There's always the new Sainsbury's opening up in the High Street."

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"But it's really too soon," Jocasta continued. "I do, however, want my darling girl to be prepared for anything! And you'll want to start adding to the savings we've started for you. You never know, after all."

"Constant vigilance," Hermione murmured, trying to blink back tears.

Hermione, if you can hear me ... it's okay, I just need ... I need you to be strong and come back.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing ..."

"I see what you mean, Severus," Harry said, straightening up and frowning. He was proud of the fact that his sessions with Severus had gone well – after only three weeks he had been allowed to attempt to cast the spell on Hermione. The intense tutoring he had received from her during her lucid periods had also helped spur him along. "There's a presence, but it's faint."

"What do you see?"

Harry shrugged. "It's almost like I had to squint through a fog. I could see a room and a woman, and there was faint conversation about her parents, but ..." he trailed off.

"Did you attempt to speak with her?"

"Yeah. And there was a flicker of recognition when I said her name, but other than that, nothing."

Snape sat back and looked speculatively at the young man.

"Perhaps you are not completely incompetent, then," he mused.

"Well put, Severus." The Savior of the Wizarding World grinned lopsidedly. "She's not happy, though," he said after a pause.

"Oh?"

"It was one of the few things I could tell. There was sort of a..." Harry's brow furrowed as he thought. "An overwhelming disappointment."

"Disappointment?"

"A feeling that... that she didn't belong, I suppose."

"Of course not," Snape growled. "She belongs here. With us."

"Sentimentality, Severus? For one of the Golden Trio?" Harry looked as if he would giggle.

"If you tell anyone we had this conversation," Snape snapped, "I'll hex you."

Late October 1991

"Why so unhappy?"

"Headmaster!" The young girl leaped to her feet, the thick tome falling to the leaf-strewn ground. She and the old man bent to retrieve it, each grabbing an end.

"Advanced Spell-work. Percy Weasley's copy, to boot. Ambitious for a first year," he observed. "Pear drop?"

"What happened to the lemon ones you used to give me and Atalanta?" Hermione smiled at his twinkle.

"Sometimes, we all prefer a change. I was talking to Professor McGonagall – sit down, child, you needn't be formal on a beautiful Saturday."

Hermione sat and accepted the sweet.

"You were talking to Professor McGonagall?" she prompted.

"And she said that you were doing remarkably well, academically."

Hermione nodded vigorously.

"The reading has been very easy to keep up with," she said. "And it's interesting, too! I'm looking forward to learning more – even Potions. I'm thinking of taking a NEWT in it. And in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Charms and Transfiguration, of course as well." She paused. "I'm also thinking about History of Magic, but Professor Binns is a bit..."

"Oh yes, poor old Cuthbert. He doesn't usually have NEWT level students. Finding out someone's even interested might cause him to expire all over again. Ambitious plans, my dear," mused the headmaster. "But there is more to Hogwarts than just study."

Hermione fought the blush in her cheeks. How did Uncle Brian always seem to know?

"Well," she said, "I've made friends with Percy Weasley. A bit. He knows where everything is – and is very responsible." And maybe I can get to know his family better. His obnoxious brother, for example. The one I can't stop thinking about.

"A worthy friend."

"And it's hard ... making new friends sometimes," Hermione confessed, wondering how her Uncle Brian winkled secrets from her so easily. "I don't have much in common with many of the students here, and well, I miss my family."

"I'm sure many of the others do, too. Do you like your dormitory mates?"

Hermione shrugged.

"They're all right. Lavender and Parvati got along really well at the start, and often, it seems like there's not much room for three. I try – but most of the time, I end up doing their homework for them." She gasped and looked up at the headmaster with a stricken face. "I didn't ... I don't ... they aren't cheating," she fumbled.

The headmaster chuckled.

"I'd never believe for a moment that you would condone cheating, Hermione," he said.

"And I never would!"

"What about the youngest Weasley boy? Ronald? Have you tried making friends with him?"

"A bit," she confessed, blushing furiously. "But he's not ... he's not very bright, is he? Not like his brother, I mean."

"I wouldn't worry too much about missing your family," he said. "You'll see them at Christmas, and soon ..." He smiled. "Well, we'll leave that for later, perhaps. But, in the meantime, remember, even the dimmest of candles can burn brightly with the right spark." He rose from the bench and patted the girl on the shoulder.

Hermione sat alone on the bench, book on her lap, biting her lip.

Even the dimmest of candles can burn with the brightest spark. Did Uncle Brian – no, where did ... Did Headmaster Dumbledore really want her to be a spark for Ronald Weasley? He was cute, but he and Harry Potter were such good friends – how could there be room in that pair for a third?

Hermione rested her chin in her hand, bushy hair swirling around her face.

She'd been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason; perhaps for approaching and making friends with the boy she, against all her better instincts, fancied. And he definitely did need somebody to help him, starting (but not ending) with Charms. One of these days, he would pronounce Wingardium Leviosa correctly.

August, 1998

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

When the room swam into focus, she found it was darkening with the late-summer twilight. Snape, sitting beside her bed, gently laid a huge tome on the nightstand.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily, rolling to squint at the man. His hair had been tied back, and his face was relaxed – more than she'd seen it to be in, well, ever.

Has he found something helpful?

"Almost nine. Filch is working on installing the end of class gong, and it must have woken you. How do you feel?"

"Hmm, I feel ... refreshed. A little foggy. What happened?"

"Pott- Harry has been to visit you – we have been conducting some experiments in Legilimency to restore your memories."

"And Ronald?"

"Is restored to us in all his Weasley glory. His elder brother Flooed me this morning."

Hermione smiled wanly.

"Bill tells me he'll come to visit you in a few days," Snape continued

"That's nice. I suppose he was sincere about his offer of 'friendship'." Hermione rolled her eyes and stifled a giggle as Snape snorted eloquently, rising from the stiff chair by her bed. She noticed that he still leaned upon his cane, but the knuckles of his hand were no longer so white.

"Do try not to make any more people disappear in the meantime, Miss Granger," he growled, reaching out his other hand and brushing the hair from her face.

Hermione blushed – did Severus Snape realize what he had just done? She hoped so, because explaining to him that his touch made her go all tingly (in a very good way – a way that Ronald had never managed to achieve) was certainly something she did not feel up to doing.

"I'll have a house-elf bring you some dinner," he said.

"I'm starving," she blurted, blushing again.

He smiled briefly. "It's good," he began, "it's good to have you with us again, Her- Miss Granger. We'll talk later," he finished hurriedly, moving from the cubicle as a house-elf popped in with a tray.

Hermione, feeling more hopeful (and more hungry) than she had in a long time, tucked into her dinner.

He must have found a cure she told herself, Certainly he wouldn't be this affectionate otherwise.

Really, it was almost more than a girl could hope for.

AN: I still do not own these characters. Even the plot is borrowed from Joss Whedon. Special thanks go to Subversa and SavineSnape and Bluestocking. They are amazing!