Those Who Need Protection

Chapter Two ~ Those Who Need Protection

"Mum, I'm going for a walk, okay?"

"Yes, Sweetie you do that, but make sure to be back for lunch."

Their last conversation. Her mother had been so happy that her little girl was home for the holidays. She had made Hermione's favourite food, roasted chicken... and now she was...

She shouldn't have left. No, she shouldn't. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she refused to open her eyes. She could have tried to Apparate them all away when the Death Eater breached the wards she had set around her parents' house. But she wasn't there. No. She had gone for a walk.

When she had come back, there was an eerie silence surrounding the Grangers' property. She knew something was wrong. Suddenly the door flew open and screaming could be heard. Her heart constricted painfully – her father had been screaming as if he were dying. 'And he was.'

And she had been frozen in place until the cries stopped. And then there was a face at the kitchen window – they had seen her. She backed away, still paralysed. In moments, the cloaked figures emerged. She had moved out of sight not daring to leave the premises – her parents needed help. Chances were small, but maybe they were still alive.

One of the men pointed his wand at the front door and yelled a hex. Her childhood home began to shake and crumble. As the roof collapsed, the group Apparated away.

Hermione remembered bursting into the building that had always been her safe haven. She called to her parents, but there was no answer. She couldn't get onto the second floor; the stairs had collapsed down, and the walls of the room in which she had been standing were probably the only ones still intact. She ran for her life. Stumbling several times, a bloodied handkerchief in one corner caught her eye.

Ignoring the voice in her head that told her to get out and quickly, she climbed back over pieces of wall and furniture to reach it. She made a grab for it, and in the same moment a falling stone hit her in the head. She ignored the dull ache – if she wanted to live, she had to move.

Survival instinct took over the action. Hermione still couldn't tell how she'd gotten out of the ruins. Outside, she had fallen to the ground – dizzy and nauseated, the handkerchief clutched in her hand... the blood on it still fresh.

She couldn't bear to think of that, but the images kept coming. It was all her fault. She felt raw and cold.

~o~o~o~

Severus watched the girl intently. After her attempted escape, he knew better then to let her out of his sight. 'She could have killed herself. Why in Merlin's name did she do that?' But deep down he knew – Hermione Granger had given up on him. The annoying know-it-all who had always believed in the good in people, even him, feared him now.

He looked over at her little form in his childhood bed. The bandage covering her eyes had to be changed soon. The glass shards had come close to taking her eyesight. She would recover, at least physically.

He had spent the last two hours in a chair next to her bed contemplating his life as much as hers. After killing Dumbledore, he had had no choice but to flee. The Order was on the hunt for him now. He was second on their list.

The Dark Lord had not been too pleased with him either. "It was the boy's task, Severusss. Your place should have been at Potter's side. You lost me my spy." The punishment he had expected, however, was not coming. No Cruciatus. No other curse. Now, he wished for that instead of what he had gotten. He was apparently left to fend for himself, simply abandoned by Voldemort.

The raid on the Grangers made that clear, although there had been subtle signs before. When the Death Eaters were summoned, he was not addressed at all. Normally the Dark Lord would keep him behind to give him instructions or to talk about his plans. Not anymore. 'Why am I still alive if he has no use of me?'

He would find our eventually, wouldn't he? There was more important business now. Hermione Granger, for one.

~o~o~o~

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley sat facing each other at the old oak desk in the sitting area of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place playing a game of chess, as they had done every day since Hermione had gone to visit her parents. Now that Hogwarts was closed, the Weasleys and Harry had set up permanent residence at Headquarters. The late afternoon sun shone through the dusty windows, and they could hear the clattering of plates from the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley prepared dinner.

"You have any idea when 'Mione is due back?" Ron asked, before moving his knight in position.

"No, but she'll have to wait for someone from the Order to pick her up. There have been a lot of strange happenings these last few months," Harry replied, moving a pawn forward, giving Ron the chance to defeat his king.

Ron moved in for the kill, and with a resigned expression, he put Harry's king down. "You okay, mate?"

"What?" Harry's earnest green eyes focused on the redhead again.

"Well, this is the second game in a row you've given over like that. Your scar hurting or something?"

"No, it hasn't for more than a year now. It's... these letters that have been coming in... if we just knew who sent them."

"Oh, give over Harry. There haven't been any for at least two months now."

"Whoever it was, was an insider. They knew about the attacks after all, remember? I still can't believe they didn't investigate that. The Creeveys were damned lucky to escape; I can't believe Moody didn't send Aurors to protect them," Harry huffed.

Before Harry had time to relate his suspicions to Ron for the umpteenth time, Molly Weasley announced that dinner would be ready soon and had the two boys set the table.

~o~o~o~

She was crying again, and he stood by helpless. Severus Snape was good at many things, but comforting a distressed woman was not one of them.

Since he had removed the bandage an hour ago, she had been weeping. First from the pain that the healing of her eyes caused. Then because of her fear of him, her loss... everything at once. Hermione's eyes were red, she was exhausted and her head hurt.

She heard Snape sigh and turned her head to see him rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked different – somehow old, a shadow of the man he once was. His robes, which had always been immaculate, were torn in several places and needed to be washed.

She hesitated before she took a deep breath and spoke, "Professor?"

Snape raised his eyes to hers. "I'm no Professor anymore," he snarled.

What had she been thinking? Hermione's mind admonished her. Feeling sorry for the git. He would always remain the same. She turned away again burying her face in the pillow she was holding to her chest.

There was another sigh, but this time she ignored it. She didn't seem to be in immediate danger, after all. Maybe he took pity on her, it would be stupid to annoy him; he might change his mind about not harming her.

~o~o~o~

Hermione Granger had fallen asleep. 'Finally,' Severus thought, collapsing backwards into the overstuffed chair in front of the fire. A glass of whiskey was in his hand, the bottle in the other.

She had not spoken a single word after 'Professor.' He tried asking her about what happened, but she would only shake her head before bursting into tears again. So he tried a different approach, telling her he hadn't known, hadn't been informed, but she had just stared into the distance.

He had brought her food; she hadn't touched it, nor did she drink what he offered. She drank from the tap in the small bathroom instead.

Snape cursed himself for his harsh reply. Yes, he wasn't a professor anymore, so what. It wasn't her fault. She reached out to him, and he let the anger about his own stupidity get in the way. 'Brilliant, old man. Just bloody brilliant.'

At least he would be rid of her in a few days. That thought, however, gave him pause. He couldn't just push her out the front door, that would endanger her; nor could he bring her to London. If any of her associates saw him, he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

And, now he thought about it, she was safer here than anywhere else. The Death Eaters thought her dead. Whatever people believed, Voldemort didn't bother with Muggles; they were of no consequence to him. But a Muggleborn, who was possibly one of the strongest witches alive, that was another story all together. If they believed her to be dead, she was safe.

Just a little poem that I like to share with you, it somehow fits. It's of all the poems I've written until now my favourite.

Darkness

In the darkness

From deep within

Hides a shadow

Just like a sin,

My heart's desire

My life long dream,

Peace among us,

A human being.