Chapter Two

Disclaimer: JKR owns all recognizable characters and settings. No copyright infringement is intended.

Three days later ...

Standing in the middle of her living room, Hermione blew an errant curl out of her face and looked around the flat. She had waited until the last possible moment to pack up her belongings, not that there was all that much to pack up. It certainly would not take very long, and so she had easily been able to justify her procrastination. With a sigh, she tucked the stubborn strand of hair behind her ear and plopped onto the sofa, resting her head against the back.

In most circumstances, Hermione was extremely task-driven, but in this case, her reticence was two-fold. First and foremost, she did not want to leave the flat she had shared with her husband. Her eyes closed, and she breathed in deeply; she could still smell his scent if she concentrated hard enough. How could she leave that behind? Almost worse than that, however, was the idea of grovelling before Severus Snape, something she did not wish to think about until it was absolutely necessary.

Yet the time had come to face the facts. She would have to honour her promise to Draco and ask their former professor for help, no matter how much it pained her. It's just until I have enough money scraped together to rent another flat, she assured herself. Her resolve now strengthened, she hoisted herself off the sofa; she had some packing to do.

Hermione dragged out her old Hogwarts trunk and decided to start in the living room. A few framed photographs and her collection of books were all shrunk before being carefully placed in the trunk. The furniture had come with the flat, so she simply cast a quick spell to clear the dust before heading to the kitchen and then the bathroom, where the process was repeated. She was moving quickly in an effort to contain the ever increasing feeling of sorrow as she systematically removed all traces of her life with Draco. She needed to get out of the flat and deal with the professor ... then she could sit down and have a nice long cry...again.

A feeling of dread settled in her stomach as she headed toward the bedroom. Hermione had known this would be a difficult room for her to clear. She meticulously folded and packed her clothing the Muggle way, telling herself she enjoyed the methodical movement of folding clothes, all the while knowing she was really just avoiding the inevitable task of sorting Draco's things.

When there was nothing of hers left, Hermione sighed and returned to the cupboard. Deciding it would be best to get it over with, she threw herself into the task. She determined that most of his clothing, as well as his shoes, could be donated to charity. She Summoned several boxes from the sitting room and sorted through the items with a discerning eye; then with a soft sigh, she found his favourite Puddlemere United t-shirt.

Her body shuddered as she buried her face in the soft blue cotton and inhaled deeply, rubbing the wash-worn material against her cheek. Several minutes later, she wiped away her seemingly ever-present tears and then packed the shirt with her other things.

Soon, only one article of clothing remained in the closet...Draco's dress robes. Reverently, she pulled out the impressive, dark grey robes her husband had worn on their wedding day. Blinking back even more tears, she carefully placed them in the trunk...they would remain with her.

Not yet ready to leave the bedroom, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes immediately drawn to the nightstand, which held a framed wizarding photo of their wedding. She picked it up and smiled briefly as she watched picture-Draco smear a bit of frosting on picture-Hermione's nose as he smirked at the camera.

Hermione smiled as she remembered the scene. She had been furious at his indecorous behaviour until he had explained that he had got the idea from an American Muggle movie Harry had taken him to see; he had assumed it was a Muggle wedding tradition. Warmed by his misguided attempt at incorporating something Muggle into their wizarding wedding, she had laughed at his concerned expression, just before she smashed an entire piece of cake into his face. With Harry cheering him on, Draco had chased her throughout the room until he'd caught her, kissing her soundly as he "shared" the cake with her.

They had been so young, so carefree, so much in love; they had believed nothing could touch them. If only they had known how little time they would have together. Hugging the photo close to her heart, Hermione sniffed, then stood and glanced about the room, looking for any items she might have missed.

Just as she was about to leave the small room, she remembered the letters. She certainly could not leave without them. Hermione pointed her wand at the cupboard and Summoned the box before setting it on the bed and staring at it as she once again remembered her promise to Draco.

"If you ... need help ... promise me ... go to ... Snape. Promise ... me."

"I promise, if I need help, I will go to Professor Snape. Okay? I promise."

Until then, she had not wanted to read the letters. Perhaps she was simply dawdling, but at that moment, she really wanted to know what was in them. Slowly, Hermione removed the lid from the box and pulled out a small stack of letters. She turned the packet over, assuming that the first one Draco had received was now on top, and hesitantly opened the envelope and began to read.

Mr Malfoy,

Severus Snape

She felt her lips twitch in vague amusement at the familiar, derisive tone. Reading through the letter again, Hermione remembered that it had been Professor Snape's generous wedding gift that Draco had used to place the deposit on the very flat she was now leaving. Shaking her head at the irony, she opened the next letter, skimming through the contents.

I am sorry to hear you are feeling poorly. Perhaps if you were to cease this incessant, Gryffindor-like behaviour, you would not be...how did you put it?...ah, yes, sicker than a wing-clipped Hippogriff. It is vulgar to the point of indecency, this insistence upon paying your parents' creditors with such undue haste.

Hermione was surprised by her unexpected bark of laughter. Glancing at the date on the letter, she remembered that week. Draco had somehow managed to catch the Muggle flu and certainly had been sicker than a wing-clipped Hippogriff.

Surprisingly, Hermione found that she was enjoying reading the letters the professor had sent to her husband, so much so that she scooted up the bed so that she could sit back comfortably against the headboard as she read. He was witty and sarcastic, intelligent and humorous, and she found herself wishing she also had Draco's letters so that she could read the conversations in their entirety.

One by one, she read them, in order of their receipt, her reticence giving way to curiosity as the friendship between the two men revealed itself. Not only had she not known of the ongoing correspondence between her husband and their former teacher, but she certainly had not been aware of such obvious affection between the two wizards. Even if I do have to look past the Slytherin-speak to see it, she thought with a small, amused smile. Each new letter provided further insight to the taciturn professor she had once believed she knew; now, she understood she did not truly know the man at all, and she wondered if Draco had realised how privileged he had been to call Severus Snape his friend.

Before she knew it, she was staring at the last letter. Hermione was painfully aware of what this one might contain. The writing on all of the previous letters had been scrawled but precise; in this letter, the script was sloppy and rushed, as if his hand and quill had been unable to keep up with his thoughts. Her fingers shook slightly as she clutched the parchment and began to read.

My friend,

I have consulted my texts, even venturing into those which some might consider unseemly, but I am afraid my efforts were fruitless. In addition, I made a few discreet inquiries to some trusted colleagues, also to no avail. I regret to tell you that it appears the Healers are correct...there is no known cure for this altered version of the Eximo Spiritus. The time-delay Bellatrix added to the curse is doubly confounding, and there is simply not enough time to do the necessary research to develop a counter-spell. I find I cannot fully express my despair. Draco, I have failed you.

Fresh tears streaked down Hermione's cheeks as she read the words of desperation and anguish penned by a man she had previously considered cold and unfeeling. His emotions mirrored her own. She bit down on her lower lip to still its trembling and continued reading.

As to your request, I sincerely doubt that your wife would ever have need of my assistance. However, should such a need arise, I swear upon my life that I will not turn her away. I do hope that my word is satisfactory ... or would you prefer it in blood? Said blood is only half pure, however, so perhaps it would be only half satisfactory. I suppose you shall have to make do with my word.

Severus

But Thursday had never come for Draco.

Hermione pondered a moment over the professor's words. To some, joking about his blood status...joking of any kind during such a situation...would be shocking and offensive. After reading the letters, however, Hermione could recognise the heartbreak in Severus' teasing words. She had no doubt that if Draco had required his blood, sweat, or tears, Severus Snape would have provided.

She carefully folded the parchment before putting it in her pocket for safekeeping. Wiping the wetness from her cheeks with the palms of her hands, she considered what she had just read. A few days before Draco's death, he had seemed calmer, happier even. She had believed he was just putting on a brave front for her sake, but the professor's promise must have eased his concerns, allowing him some modicum of peace in those final days.

The letters certainly explained Severus Snape's presence at Draco's funeral. Her already fragile emotional state had been further compromised by that fact that Hermione had been forced to face the day completely on her own. Harry had been away on an undercover mission, the same mission that he was on currently, and although she had contacted the Weasleys, there had been no reply. Despite that fact that she had no family or friends to support her, she had stood beside the silver coffin, her chin held high.

Most of Draco's friends had been either cold or downright nasty to her. Blaise Zabini had even had the audacity to suggest that she consider becoming his mistress...at her husband's funeral. Pansy Parkinson had been neither kind nor cruel but instead had simply stared at the silver coffin that held the body of one of her oldest and dearest friends. Pansy had not agreed with Draco's decision to marry "the Mudblood," but she had possessed enough sense to keep her opinion on that subject to herself. She and Hermione were civil to each other, but that had been solely for Draco's sake. Without him as a buffer ... well, Hermione doubted there would ever be an invitation to tea by either party.

Of Draco's friends, only Gregory Goyle had surprised her. He had approached her after the service, haltingly offered his condolences, and hesitantly asked if there were anything he could do for her. She had politely thanked him for his concern, and as she had dazedly watched him lumber away, a dark-cloaked figure standing near the edge of the cemetery had caught her eye.

She had immediately known it was him...Professor Snape...even though he had covered his head with the hood of his cloak in what might have been an attempt to conceal his identity. As if sensing her gaze upon him, he had turned, his dark, glittering eyes meeting hers. His expression had been completely devoid of emotion. He had nodded an acknowledgement before bowing slightly at the waist and then Disapparating. She had neither seen nor heard from him since.

At the time, Hermione had believed that he had simply come to pay his respects to a former student with whom he had maintained a correspondence. After reading the letters, she realised that he had come to mourn the child he had sworn to protect and the man who had become his friend. Perhaps his apparent stoicism had been masking his grief.

As she looked at the box containing his final, sorrow-filled letter, she murmured, "Perhaps he is not so different from me after all."

Glancing at her watch, Hermione started as she noticed the time; she had to be out of the flat within the hour. She gently placed her wedding photo and the box of letters into the trunk and then closed the lid. Next, she shrunk the boxes that would go to charity and put them in her bag; she could drop them off in Diagon Alley before going to...

I'm not thinking about that yet, she scolded herself firmly.

Hermione used magic to move the now heavy trunk into the living room, her steps quick and efficient as she swept through the flat one last time, looking for any forgotten items. After finding none, she returned to the living room, locked her Hogwarts trunk, and then placed the key to the flat on the small kitchen table, along with a note reminding McNaughton of his oath. She pulled on her cloak, and then waved her wand and said "Locomotor trunk!"

And with the meticulously packed trunk floating behind her, she gave the flat one last mournful look before leaving the home she had shared with her husband.

~o0o~

Hermione was convinced she was going to freeze before she arrived, even with the warming charm she'd cast. The bitter wind tore through her old winter cloak as if it were not there at all.

Walking as quickly as she could, given the snow and ice, she made her way up the narrow, cobbled street, her eyes taking in the maze of rundown, brick row houses. As she continued on, her now Disillusioned trunk floating along behind her, she felt her heart sink at the bleak desolation of the area. She saw not a single soul, and the houses were dilapidated. A few were obviously abandoned, with boards covering broken-out windows in some cases, whilst in others, the frigid winter air whistled through the empty panes. The odour from the rubbish-lined river, combined with the smell of what must be a nearby fish-and-chip shop, was absolutely nauseating, and she found herself holding her breath, inhaling only when necessary.

At last, she found the street named Spinner's End. With an uneasy feeling, Hermione stared at the giant mill chimney, its massive shadow further darkening the already dreary street. As she reached the end, she found it...the very last house, a very small, very old two-up, two-down which appeared very uncared-for.

Merlin. This was where Professor Snape lived? How was he supposed to help her when it was perfectly obvious that he could barely afford to make ends meet for himself? Admonishing herself for not having sent an owl before showing up on the man's doorstep, she pushed down her panic and cautiously walked to the front door, avoiding the slippery patches of ice on the pavement. Before she could think to change her mind, she hastily knocked on the door, the sound echoing loudly down the deserted street.

She waited with bated breath for what seemed like an eternity before she heard footsteps near the door, and then it slowly opened, revealing the pale, sallow face of her former teacher. He seemed different...more approachable, perhaps...without his teaching robes; the simple white shirt and black trousers were certainly not as intimidating.

"Mrs Malfoy," Professor Snape murmured, opening the door wider, allowing her to see into the small, dingy sitting room behind him. He did not appear to be surprised to see her at his door, although she could sense his reluctance in speaking with her. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that he had yet to invite her in, despite the bitter wind and snow, and instead was staring at her rather impassively as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Two could play at that game. Suppressing a shiver, she met his unwavering gaze with one of her own.

"Professor Snape."

His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Now that we have reacquainted ourselves," he mocked lightly, "perhaps you will deign to inform me just what it is you want."

Hermione felt her temper flare at his condescension but remained outwardly calm. Her hand reached inside her cloak, into the pocket of her trousers, where she removed the letter containing his promise to Draco. She watched as his eyes widened in recognition, and he seemed to move backward even as she stepped forward to hand him the piece of parchment.

"You told my husband that if I needed help, I could come to you. In fact, Draco made me promise to come to you...and only you...if I should find myself in need. I..." She swallowed her pride before continuing. "I am afraid I am in need of a place to stay for a few weeks until I can locate suitable housing. I was hoping that perhaps ..." She trailed off as she saw the flash of alarm cross his features as his arms fell to his sides, his fingers gripping the parchment. His sallow face blanched, and she knew.

"Mrs Malfoy..." he began.

She swiftly interrupted him. "I can see that you never expected to have to fulfil your promise to my husband. Don't worry, Professor. I won't hold you to it. I'll find someone else to assist me. I apologise for taking up your time. Good day, sir."

Hermione reached forward, snatched the parchment from his hand, and then turned, determined to get away from Spinner's End as quickly as possible, before she lost her last shred of dignity by completely breaking down in front of the insufferable man.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten about her Disillusioned trunk.

Without a second thought, she ran directly into it, tripping over it in her haste to escape. Stretching out her arms, she prepared herself for her inevitable fall. Before she hit the ground, however, she felt warm hands grip her upper arms, halting her descent.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione could not remember a time when she had heard Severus Snape's voice laced with concern, but there it was. Interesting. She gathered her tattered pride about her just as she had her tattered cloak and turned to thank him.

The gods were against her, she decided, as her foot slipped on a small patch of ice. Luckily, the professor's hands were still grasping her arms, and as he pulled her toward him to steady her, the front of her body pressed firmly up against his. His dark eyes screwed shut, and he grimaced as if he were in pain.

"Come with me."

He gave her no opportunity to decline his terse invitation, as he all but dragged her inside the small house, slamming the door behind him before yanking it back open again to allow her still Disillusioned trunk to float inside.

Hermione barely had time to take note that the sitting room appeared much nicer and larger now that she was inside the house before he had seated her on a small sofa and began pacing in front of her. She looked at him questioningly, and he muttered, "The rooms appear less hospitable to unwelcome guests...it encourages them to leave."

Not surprised by that revelation, she nodded her understanding and looked about the room, finding it was comfortable and unexpectedly inviting...apparently she was no longer unwelcome. Remembering her trunk still floating by the door, Hermione pointed her wand in its general direction and softly said, "Finite Incantatem," causing the heavy trunk to crash to the floor with a loud bang and earning her a glare from the irate wizard in front of her before he resumed his pacing.

After a few long moments, he glanced at her and noticed her obvious shivering. He called out a loud, "Accio blanket!" and the next thing she knew, she had a face full of warm wool. Hermione frowned her disapproval as she primly unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around her trembling form, her chin held high.

Unfortunately, the object of her irritation did not notice her censure one bit, as he was busy muttering under his breath, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued walking to and fro. Finally, he stopped and turned to face her, his hands braced on his narrow hips. Drawing himself up to full height, he looked like a man about to go to battle...one who knew he would not survive the night.

"Just how pregnant are you, Mrs Malfoy?"

A/N: My ending gratitude, as always, to my beta readers, DeeMichelle and Subversa, and my Brit picker, LettyBird. They are the best!

The next chapter will post in a week.