Three

Morning met Hermione buried under her covers, clinging to an ancient and battered teddy bear.

"Mmf," she grumbled, poking her head out from beneath the duvet and blinking in the bright sunlight. "Bugger," she said with the realization that she had not slept. Sighing, she pushed to covers from her bed and rolled her way to the edge. "Bugger," she said again, stretching.

At some point, Granger, you're going to have to get some sleep.

Staying awake all night long researching and reading was one thing; lying awake, tense, jumping at every sound and trembling in the dark, was something else entirely.

"This is no way to live," she told herself, sticking her tongue out in the mirror.

"If you keep doing that, your face will freeze that way," the mirror informed her.

Hermione leapt back with a startled cry.

"There's something wrong, isn't there?" asked the mirror.

"What?"

"I don't know," the mirror said, "but something about you doesn't feel quite right."

"Nosy piece of glass," Hermione muttered.

"Nosy yourself," the mirror rejoined. "You have a problem."

"I don't need to listen to this," Hermione said, scrambling out of her pajamas and turning on the hot tap in the shower. Steam soon filled the small bathroom. "A nice shower, that'll fix it."

"Well, dear, how did Practical Charms go yesterday?" asked Minerva McGonagall at lunch. As a nod to her status as a senior student, Hermione had been invited, and chose to sit, at the staff table. There weren't many Gryffindors present this year whom she knew very well. Most of the current ones stared at her and whispered behind their hands. Even Ginny had opted not to sit for her NEWTs, choosing to marry Harry as soon as she could.

Hermione gulped a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "Fine," she mumbled. "Ugh."

"I thought I heard an explosion – were any of yours students injured?"

"An explosion? No!" Hermione affected a carefree laugh. "There may have been a little pop when I er... one of the student's feathers got too close to the ceiling. A ... erm, change in the atmosphere – I think Professor Flitwick's got a charm in the ceiling that changes the pressure."

"I see." Professor McGonagall leveled a long look at her. "Miss Granger, are you feeling all right?"

"What? Me? Never better!" Except that I haven't dared to cast a charm since Lumos failed me, and I haven't slept in two days, and I'm scared that I'm losing my magic, and I don't ever, ever want to go back into that classroom, I'm great.

"Well," Professor McGonagall said after a pause, "be sure you're taking care of yourself, dear. It would be a shame for you to get this far and..."

"I'm doing fabulously!" Hermione insisted, reaching for the jug of juice.

"Oh, allow me." Flitwick reached across Hermione and knocked over the jug.

"Oh dear!" Hermione squeaked, grabbing for her wand. Unthinking, she cried, "Evanesco!"

What happened next became a legend in the annals of Hogwarts:

Hundreds upon hundreds of garter snakes emerged from the expanding puddle of juice and slithered through the Great Hall. Students screamed, benches were overturned, food was spilled, a stampede formed.

"Miss Granger!" cried Professor McGonagall. "What have you done?"

Utterly dismayed, Hermione sank back in her chair and watched numbly as the professors attempted to restore order.

Two hours later, after the last snake had been rounded up and Banished, Hermione was still sitting in her chair, staring at the stain on the tablecloth. Professor Snape strode up to her and stood on the other side of the table, glowering at her.

"Come with me, Granger," he said.

"What?" Hermione jerked herself from her reverie.

"Are you deaf? Come. With. Me."

"Why should I?" Hermione folded her arms across her chest and pouted. Deep within her, the soul of the swotting student who had always respected her professors, even Professor Snape, shriveled in embarrassment.

"Because I know what's wrong with you," Snape replied. "Now, you can behave like a two-year-old, or you can come with me."

Go with him. He can help you.

"How can you know what's wrong with me?" Hermione demanded. "I don't even know what's wrong with me!"

"Miss Granger, do not make me escort you out by wand-point. And do not assume that even though you style yourself as a know-it-all, that you actually know anything at all."

Snape strode down the corridor, and Hermione panted, trying desperately to catch up.

"Please, sir," Hermione gasped, scrambling after Snape. "Where are we going?"

"Granger, be silent." Snape spun in a dramatic flare of teaching robes.

"But..."

"Granger!"

Hermione subsided.

Snape looked at her for a long moment. "Better," he said.

Before Hermione could ask what he meant by that cryptic pronouncement, Snape was off again. "As you follow, Granger, we will begin," he tossed over his shoulder. "Begin by looking around you. What do you see?"

"Why, the school, of course," Hermione panted.

"Look around you, Granger, tell me what you see."

"Well, I see the school building, the portraits, and..." Hermione paused, stopping short. "The portraits ... they're all different."

"Astute, Granger. Now, keep up! I told you to observe, not to gawk."

"Picky, picky," Hermione grumbled, scurrying after her professor. "Please, sir," she called in what she hoped was a placating tone, "why are the portraits different?"

"Come along, Granger. What else do you see?"

Hermione looked around. "Scaffolding," she said, "and plaster, but where are the house-elves?"

"Like the portraits," Snape said, glancing over his shoulder, "they have changed."

"Is Hogwarts ever going to be the same?" Hermione wondered, averting her eyes from a particularly bad scorch mark on the bare stone.

"Nothing will ever be the same, Granger. We're here."

Snape stopped so suddenly that Hermione cannoned into him. He gave a grunt of irritation.

"Do you mind?" he inquired with icy disdain. "If you're not woolgathering, you're barreling into me. Honestly, girl, what is wrong with you?"

"I don't know, sir," Hermione snapped. "I thought you were going to tell me."

Snape sighed. "No, Granger, I know what's wrong with you. It does not follow that I would just tell you. Fiat Tablinum."

The door in front of them clicked open and Snape strode in.

"Well?" he asked spinning again. Hermione privately thought he ought to stop the dramatic twirling; it was, all things considered, a bit overdone. "Are you coming or not?"

Forbearing to comment, lest it result in more point deductions, Hermione followed Snape into the room.

It was surprisingly cozy. Obviously, it was a Slytherin room with deep green and silver accents. But a fire sprang to life upon Snape's entrance, and the shadows in the room sprang back as candelabras blossomed to light.

"Sit," Snape gestured to the sofa. "This is my study."

Hermione sat and looked for the jars of specimens and crawling things in formaldehyde. Instead, she saw shelves lined with books, moving photos, some stills (surprisingly), and scattered here and there, modest pieces of art. A soft rug covered the floor.

There were also several comfortable looking chairs – a perfect nook for reading.

"But I thought..." she began. "Well, there'd be bugs, and creepy specimens..."

"That is the office attached to my laboratory," Snape explained with exaggerated patience, as if she was an idiot. "This is my private study."

Hermione stared.

"Close your mouth, Granger, you'll catch flies. This, unlike the Potions office, is where I come to study as opposed to develop potions and prepare for the labs. Very few people know about this place, by the way. I would like to keep it so."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. "Why?" she finally asked.

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

"Really, Granger? That's the best you can do?" Snape sighed theatrically. "Fine. Because it is not a common occurrence for a witch such as yourself – a witch who is as talented as yourself – to have such problems controlling her magic. If I am not mistaken, you are also not sleeping well, are you?"

"Wha... no, as a matter of fact, I'm not."

He called me talented – that's the first time he's ever done that!

"Now, listen, Granger," he said, "what do you hear?"

"Nothing, just the crackling of the fire."

"Exactly. This is the quietest place in the castle."

"But why did you bring me here?"

"Because I know what's wrong with you, and Minerva doesn't. I told her I would handle this," Snape admitted, crossing to a small table with a wine bottle and a few glasses. "Drink?"

Hermione stared at him.

"You're over eighteen, are you not?"

"Yes, sir, I am. But why did..."

"Here. It will probably be lost on you, but it's a rather nice Pinot Noir." Snape shoved the glass into her hand.

Hermione took an exploratory sip. "It's... smooth," she said, "and I can taste... are those blackberries?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not a total heathen, then," he remarked. "It is from a place called the Willamette Valley, in America."

"It's lovely," Hermione said.

"I am glad you appreciate it."

"Sir?" Hermione ventured, as Snape seemed to have sunk into some sort of reverie over his glass.

"Yes, Granger?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

"So you could think," he replied.

"What?"

"So you could think. Reflect. And hopefully, discover what your problem is."

"But you said you knew."

"I do know, but to tell you would defeat the purpose of you discovering it on your own."

"This is getting unnecessarily Zen-like," Hermione grumbled.

"I will ignore that flippant remark," Snape said. "Now, close your eyes and clear your mind."

Hermione goggled at him. "You're not going to teach me Occlumency, are you?"

"No. You should be so lucky. No, Granger, I am trying to get you to focus and come up with an original idea, for once in your life."

"Why, sir?"

"Why, what?"

"Why you? Why not Professor McGonagall? She saw what happened in the Great Hall. Why did she tell you to take care of... me?"

"Despite the fact that she did witness your rather spectacular display of misplaced magic," Snape said, "she has less personal experience with your situation than I do."

"I still don't see why you won't tell me," Hermione insisted.

"Because I can't, Granger. The answer has to come from you. Now, close your eyes."

Hermione did so. "What am I looking for, sir?"

"You are looking for space. Breathe deeply. Focus first on my voice, then on the fire crackling." He paused and Hermione obeyed. With her eyes closed, his voice did sound rather nice. "Now, empty your mind of all logical and conscious thought."

Hermione opened an eye.

"Close them!"

"It just sounds so out of character for you, sir," she admitted.

"Really, Granger? That is your brilliant observation? I promise you, I'm not going to turn into Sibyll Trelawney on you. Now close your eyes and focus, or I shall deduct more points."

Hermione did so.

"Relax, Granger."

Hermione tried.

"Focus on your magic. Feel it running in your veins."

Hermione breathed deeply. And after a few minutes, she spoke. "I can feel it," she said, but it's... it's off."

"How is it off?"

Hermione frowned. "It feels like it's coming from the same place as always..."

"Where is that?"

"Here." Hermione put her hand to her chest.

"Here?" Snape was suddenly beside her, covering her hand with his warm one.

"Yes," she breathed. He smelled of wine and a faint hint of aftershave. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine that his teeth weren't yellowed, and his hair wasn't...

Snape had snatched his hand away as if he had been burned. "But what, Granger?"

"But it feels like it's in the wrong place. Like I'm in the wrong place." She could feel the sofa shift as he moved away and was bereft. "Like I'm in the wrong place," she repeated.

"It's that simple," Snape acknowledged gently, and Hermione's eyes snapped open.

"It doesn't sound simple," she retorted.

"It is, Granger. You've just hit on the nub of the problem."

"I'm not in the right place?"

"Correct."

"But..."

"Put it this way, Granger," Snape said, rising and standing before the fire. "Each witch or wizard's magic is tied to a strong sense of place."

Hermione nodded.

"It is one of the reasons that there are not many witches or wizards who travel very much. If they are fortunate, they will live in the place where their magic is strongest. They are drawn to it."

"I see," Hermione said. "Is that why you have the Malfoys in Wiltshire and the Blacks in London and the Weasleys in Ottery St Catchpole?"

Snape nodded. "Wizarding families share a strong affinity for the same place. It is often, but not always, hereditary."

"Is that the case with every witch or wizard?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. And if they cannot live there, the witch or wizard will try his or her best to spend as much time in that place as he can."

"And if she isn't able to live there? Or spend time there?"

"They wither and die," Snape said shortly.

"Oh," said Hermione. "Where... where is your place?"

"The Prince estate is in Devonshire," Snape answered. "But when my grandfather died, my mother's brother forbade us to visit anymore."

"Oh, Professor..."

"It is in the past, Granger, and may I remind you this is not for you to share with your little friends?"

"Oh, no, of course not! So... is your place in Devonshire?"

"No, as a matter of fact, it isn't. When my uncle forbade us to visit, I was very young. And I found another place. My mother was not so lucky."

"So where is it?"

Snape smiled briefly. "Far from here, Granger. I escape when I can."

"And mine?"

"That, Granger, is for you to discover."

Hermione frowned. "How come," she asked, "how come I didn't know about this before?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Has it occurred to you, Granger, that you just might have missed something by buggering off your last year to live in a tent?"

"I... what?"

"It's part of the Seventh Year curriculum for Muggle-borns. Most witches and wizards develop this yen about their eighteenth birthday. You would have known that, if you'd stayed where you were supposed to. Even with Alecto Carrow around, McGonagall would have seen to it that you were prepared."

"But the Horcruxes..."

"Oh please, Granger. Anyway, you have to find your place and do it quickly, or else there will be more incidents like the one this morning. Now, it is time for you to attend your evening tutorial with Professor Flitwick." Snape glared at her. Any spark of tenderness Hermione thought she had detected was gone. The fire flickered and went out.

"But how do I begin?" Hermione asked, rising.

"That is not something I can tell you, Granger. You must look for yourself."

"But..." Hermione found herself rapidly propelled to the door.

"Go to class, Granger. And try, for once in your life, to observe the world around you."

Snape slammed the door on her.

"Observe the world around me," she muttered to herself. "Find my place. Great. Just great. I can't even find my parents."

AN: See chapter one for disclaimers and thanks.