Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

Try as she could, Hermione couldn't keep herself afloat in the midst of the drowning thoughts awakened by the Memory Charm. She had managed to shake herself of Anna's image, but then, it wasn't Anna she was so concerned about, was it? She could feel her feet take wandering steps against the side walk, and in the back of her mind she knew they continued to propel her forward. However, she wasn't truly jolted into reality until Snape took her hand. He gripped it firmly, his larger hand nearly crushing her smaller one, pulling her insistently. It took only a second for Hermione to realize that he had just prevented her from blindly walking into oncoming traffic.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, pausing her progress to regain her bearings. It was as if someone had released the mute button, and the whining of breaks and the rumbling of engines suddenly could be heard over her deafening thoughts.

"It's fine," Snape replied gruffly. He released her hand gently, almost lingering.

And there it was again, that look. He was concerned? It should have been an affirmative statement, but for some reason, uncertainty kept the intonation from holding still.

They continued, but Thomas was walking right beside her now. The look of concern he wore was unquestionable.

"How much do they pay you at that Ministry?" It was an impertinent question, but Hermione couldn't help it. The building looming overhead cleared her of other distracting thoughts for the moment. The house was just... big. Huge. Not as big as Malfoy Manor, but for a civil servant, even the head of a department...

"The house isn't that ostentatious."

Snape was correct on that point. The manicured lawn was devoid of ornate bushes or colorful flowers. The blanket of green was only divided by a simple stone walkway leading up to the navy blue front door. The home's exterior was made of a deep red brick with three windows facing onto the street from each of its top two stories. Of course, there were also the two thin ivory columns which supported the equally white portico sitting three stories up.

"Ostentatious? This house is enormous. And in this city! I'm sure it has to be worth at least..."

"Was this really what you wanted to discuss at this moment?" Snape asked irritably.

Hermione paused to stare up at the looming brick house. "No."

"Margaret's husband was Muggle. Worked in finance or something of that sort before he passed away a year or so ago. I assume it is mainly on his wages that they could afford to purchase such an enormous house. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Hermione considered the explanation. "Yes."

"Good. Now, as Margaret is my colleague, I think it would be best if you and Thomas led the questions."

Were her ears deceiving her, or did Thomas just clap in glee?

"I will lead the questioning, and Thomas, you may follow if I feel it's appropriate."

Thomas looked no more deflated by this. "Shall I watch for a secret sign? A wink or a nod or something with your fingers?"

"No, none of those," Hermione replied, roping him in. "In fact, any of those might be a sign that I was suffering from a seizure of some sort and required medical attention. I will keep it simple and ask, 'Thomas, do you have any questions?'"

"Right, right. That sounds good." Thomas nodded rapidly in agreement.

Hermione wondered silently if Snape kept doses of Calming Draught somewhere in that sweeping coat of his.

"Well, as long as we're all prepared..." Severus drawled, approaching the door.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead and knock, please," Hermione prompted, collecting her thoughts. "Though she must be mad if there are no wards on this..."

"Enormous house?"

Margaret Harrell's mousy brown hair was cropped close to her head, the hairstyle of a woman who might have bothered with some sort of styling before, but who had little time to worry with it now. For some reason, this detail caught Hermione's attention first, as if it told the entire story without introduction. Other details ... the hastily put together sweatpants and silk button-down combination, the coal-colored under-eye blotch of not quite removed mascara, the kind but put-upon smile ... put meat on the bones. And then there were the barking dog of diminutive height and the two young children of little patience to add color.

Closing the door slightly, she could be heard pleading with the children to "take Ruffles upstairs to play." When she opened the door again, it was to the clicking nails of retreating paws and the flat-footed slaps of retreating feet.

Smiling tiredly, Margaret finally continued, "Rest assured. We do have wards around the property, and apparently they're well hidden." There was no bite to her explanation, just warm amusement. "Now, Severus, I rarely see you in the office, much less out, so excuse my surprise. Would you and your... associates like to come in?"

Severus nodded and accepted the offer with, "Thank you, Margaret," before entering the house through the open door. Hermione followed him closely, gazing around for anything suspicious. However, only the supreme tidiness of the home gave her any pause.

Margaret seated them in a room just down the hall, which Hermione presumed to be the formal sitting room. It was decorated completely in ecru, down to the matching couch, armchairs and walls. The floors were a glossy wood, but also covered with pillowy rugs, giving the room a formal but cozy feel. There were no stray toys or clothing, not even a framed photograph.

Hermione and Thomas took a seat on the couch, while Severus and Margaret seated themselves in armchairs on either side of them.

Margaret didn't appear particularly tense, yawning slightly. "I'm sorry," she said, still covering her yawn with her hand. "You know how it is; you try to go to bed early and then one thing or another comes up." Smiling, she turned to Hermione and Thomas. "So, how may I help you?"

"Well, I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione supplied, still judging how she would go about this. "And this is Thomas."

Thomas gave a silent wave, clearly determined to stick to the script.

Instead of giving her title as well, Hermione decided to take things in a different direction first. "Please excuse my rudeness earlier. I don't usually openly gape, but your house is just so beautiful, Mrs. Harrell."

"Thank you," Margaret replied kindly, "And please, call me Margaret."

"Yes, of course, Margaret," Hermione replied in kind. "Were those your children earlier? They seemed lovely." Hermione knew she was laying it on thick, but once she saw the way Margaret's eyes sparkled at the children's mention, she knew she was on the right track.

"Yes, Molly and Jason. They can be a handful at times, especially with my duties at the Ministry, but they really are great kids. They've been amazingly brave through, well, everything." She had stopped just short of revealing her husband's death, but Hermione figured she had revealed just enough for now.

"Well, I can see you have a busy night ahead, so we'll try to make this quick. Thomas and I are actually from the I.C.W. Specifically, the Office of Magical Creature Regulation and Concealment. Have you heard anything about our ongoing investigation?"

Margaret didn't miss a beat. "Nothing specific, no. There are rumors, of course. But, Severus here runs a tight ship. No leaks in his department, right Severus?"

Given his barely perceptible nod, Hermione assumed that Snape was not often found around the office water cooler.

"However, I did read that ridiculous story in the Herald yesterday. I cannot believe the audacity of some reporters," Margaret added.

Hermione carefully steered the conversation back on topic. "Yes, well, due to that bit of spotlight, it's very important that we conclude our investigation as quickly as possible. Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Not at all. I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but go for it." Again Margaret seemed very much at ease, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if they had the wrong person.

"Great," Hermione replied enthusiastically, hoping her upbeat response would keep Margaret unaware of their suspicions. "I suppose we'll start with your job. Could you describe your position?"

"Well, as I'm sure Severus here has told you, I lead the Improper Use of Magic office. As you can imagine, it's quite hectic. There's always some underage wizard or witch testing their limits, and then the cases just increase in seriousness exponentially from there. I tell you, the things I've seen!" Margaret paused to chuckle slightly. "Given its size, we have many bureaus spread out across the country, so a lot of my job is making sure the field offices are keeping up with the workload, sometimes handling the most pressing cases myself."

Hermione gave her a thoughtful look. "Goodness that does sound hectic. Does your job require a lot of travel then?"

Margaret's cheerful smile dimmed slightly. "Not a lot, but yes, I'd say more than average. It can be difficult, but what can you do? People love to test their boundaries!" She chuckled again, and Hermione smiled, though she found little funny.

"It must make it difficult to raise a young family," Hermione said, trying to imbue her voice with sympathy. Then she leaned forward and added in a confidential tone, "Especially by yourself. Severus told me about... your loss."

Leaning back, Hermione took in Margaret's demeanor as it changed rather quickly. Slightly pallid, Margaret's eyes swept over the other three, clearly deciding something.

"I certainly don't enjoy it," she stated quietly. "It's hard to leave them. I never imagined that I would have to work again after having them." It appeared that she was suddenly mesmerized with the rug below her feet, watching her toes flex into the soft fibers instead of making eye contact with any of them. "And then I lost Greg. It's good I had the education, the drive, but my passion is... it's for my kids, Ms. Granger."

Hermione took a deep breath and then took a leap. "It can be so dangerous for children these days. I know on the Muggle telly it's always some kidnapping or the other. And we know from our investigation that you have no close family in the area. Who do you trust with the children, Margaret?"

And there it was in Margaret's deep brown eyes, the look of recognition. Margaret leaned back in her armchair as Hermione denied herself the opportunity to exhale with relief. She had guessed correctly.

Margaret licked her lips, her right hand fiddling with her marriage band. She was the one to finally exhale. "You... you don't know what it's like," she began softly, her voice nearly hoarse with unexpressed emotion. "My children, they're wizards, magical. It was obvious even as babies, their first signs. A Summoned cookie here, a floating toy there. They were like me. And my husband, dear Greg, he couldn't have been prouder. I was going to educate them myself until they were ready for a wizarding high school. But then Greg was in that car accident and... my plans changed."

Hermione bit her lip as she watch a tear roll down Margaret's cheek. She balled her fists, her nails sharp against the flesh of her palms.

"I had to send them to Muggle school, which was terrifying. What if they accidentally displayed something in class? And then there was the dilemma of who would watch them while I was away with work. There aren't a lot of magical caretakers around here; most witches just stay home. And I couldn't, I wouldn't risk hiring a Muggle. Who knew what might happen. But then, magically you might say, I was presented with a solution, and I had no choice. I had to take it."

Despite Margaret's conviction, more tears were brimming to follow the first. She took a hiccupping breath, and then she was crying in earnest.

"I knew the illegality of it. I knew it was wrong. But you have to understand, I couldn't risk their harm. It's more than just exposing their magic, you know. Someone could really try to take advantage of them, to hurt them, bully them, even, for their abilities. I'm straddling two worlds here and I want to protect them in both, but I can't."

Margaret's anguish was palpable. Hermione was shaking. Just as Severus leaned over to pass Margaret a handkerchief, Hermione abruptly stood up.

"The-the elf," she stuttered, towering over the sobbing woman and feeling like she wanted to crawl out of her skin. "I want to speak to him or her, if they're here."

Margaret nodded, hiccupping a few more time. "In the kitchen. Mipsy's in the kitchen, just down the hall."

Hermione nodded, and then turned to look back at Thomas. "Your turn," she instructed simply, leaving him flabbergasted as she exited.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Hermione pressed herself against the cool wall of the hallway and closed her eyes. The images in her head were vivid but slightly disjointed, cut together like a projection reel. The anguish so clear in Margaret mirrored the look on her mother's face when Hermione had told her the reality of what she and her friends would be doing their seventh year. In that moment, she couldn't face her mother's worry. She had needed to stay strong ... the Memory Charm was difficult ... and it was impossible to focus with her mom's sniffling sobs, her father's pained and confused expression. So she had just done it, using whatever resolve she still had, and even as their confused expressions dissolved into disbelief and maybe even terror, she had whispered, "Obliviate."

Remembering that night, Hermione let out a strangled sob alone in the hallway, but quickly scolded herself internally. After eight long years, her guilt was still suffocating, but there was no time to wallow. As always, she had a job to do. And thus, just as she had when her legislation had been thrown out, when Ron had broken things off, when she had found herself traversing the world completely alone, she pushed her feelings aside and got on with it.

"Well, it seems that the elf is treated well," Hermione relayed as she, Thomas, and Snape progressed towards the Apparition point. "She's just pleased to be of use again. Her previous owner had died without any kind of heir, so one of Malfoy's people picked her up at an estate auction."

Neither Snape nor Thomas responded verbally, just continued to look at her as if she might suddenly burst into flames.

Chagrined at being handled with kid gloves, Hermione ignored them and continued. "I suppose all of this puts us in a strange position. I certainly don't want to be the one photographed wrenching the elf from her new home."

"It's not just that," Thomas pointed out. He had the decency to look at the ground as he spoke. "There are the magical implications, of course. That's assuming some kind of property binding has occurred. But, even more importantly, despite the law, it seems Margaret has a real case for keeping the elf."

Hermione didn't respond immediately. If there was one thing that the war had taught her, it was that no issue was black or white. Hermione found herself becoming overwhelmed with gray at every turn.

Reaching the Apparition point, Hermione turned towards Snape for the first time since they left the Harrell home. She watched him open his mouth to say something and hurried to cut him off. "Eight A.M. tomorrow? I imagine that will give us enough time to sort out all of the specifics. I've got a batch of the pre-made stuff if you don't, by the way." It all tumbled out of her mouth, almost without punctuation. She just couldn't help thinking that she didn't want to hear what Snape had to say about... well, they both knew what about.

"Fine," he muttered neutrally, though his jaw began to tick again ever so slightly.

"I hope she doesn't back out," Hermione said, almost more to herself. "I would have taken the elf right then otherwise." She hated how callous she sounded, but it was true. Margaret had promised to help set a trap for Malfoy, and at this moment, she could only focus on the black and white. Malfoy was running an illegal elf smuggling ring. Open and shut.

Snape looked as if he wanted to say more, but he was always more capable of restraint than Hermione. So it was in silence that she and Thomas clasped hands and left him behind.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Thomas voiced the question carefully, as if he had already given the matter some thought. And he certainly had the time; the pair had already been standing outside of Hermione's hotel room for at least a minute or two.

In that span of time, Hermione had raised her hand to the doorknob several times, barely missing the handle before letting it fall back to her side. If she went into her room, she knew what would be waiting for her. All of her thoughts and memories; all of the gray.

Letting her hand drop uselessly at her side once more, she sighed. "Perhaps a walk is in order."

"Oh, well, let me just change my shoes," Thomas offered.

"No! I mean, no, I just need to wander a bit. Think some things over. You know, clear my head."

Hermione tried again to ignore the way Thomas was examining her, as if he were debating between letting her go and casting a Full Body-Bind on her and tucking her into bed.

"Right, well, be careful," he allowed finally, before retreating down the hall to his own room.

Despite her true intention of taking a walk, Hermione found herself pulling up in a cab in front of the American Ministry of Magic only a half an hour later. There were no wards, as she had guessed, so she simply let herself in, making her way through the darkened office complex with ease. The only sound to be heard was the dull click of her kitten heels against concrete, but she was concentrating more on her destination. Past Stephens' office and around a corner, several persistent steps towards the end of the hallway, and she had arrived.

Twisting the knob with one hand and gently pushing the door with the other, Hermione slowly opened the closet partway. It was darker inside the closet than out in the empty hallway, so she retrieved her wand from inside her suit jacket and silently watched as the wand's tip began to glow. The light was feeble, but enough to illuminate the sleeping elves, six or so gathered across one cot. Guiding her wand higher, the soft light revealed a tidy storeroom, certainly much tidier than the day before. The elves were probably bored, restless. Hermione could relate.

No more satisfied than when she arrived, Hermione closed the door, careful to deafen the sound of the clicking lock. Leaning against the closed door, Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. And then she sniffled. And blinked. And a strangled sound erupted from her throat, her resolve threadbare. And then she was crying. Big gasping breaths, full body shudders, her face most likely transforming into the ugliest grimace. Tears as well, of course, streaming down her face, soaking her cheeks, her curtaining hair, her good suit jacket.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione screamed shrilly. Maybe deep down she had hoped he would show up, but she really hadn't expected him, certainly not as soon as she had succumbed to her weakness.

"It's me." It sounded funny when he said it. Snape's attempt at reassuring had a peculiar uncertainty to it, almost as if he were asking a question. Was it him?

"Yes, I know it's you," Hermione moaned. She hadn't meant for her response to sound forlorn, it was just difficult to make anything sound light mid-sob.

Severus didn't seem to realize this though, as he next said, "I'm sorry. I'll leave you to..."

"No! I... is there somewhere here we could talk?"

She heard no response. Hermione sniffled, hastily wiping away a bead of mucous from her reddening nose and thankful for the obscurity. Then she heard Snape clear his throat, a warning that he would be speaking again.

"We can speak in the break room. Follow me."

Hermione could make out his outline, a black object proceeding down the hall, and as she had done that entire day, she followed him.

Hermione could barely open her eyes in the brightly lit staff break room. Snape had awakened the fluorescent bulbs wandlessly once they had entered and had left a blind Hermione to squint around as her eyes adjusted to the sudden impact. Almost looking through her lashes, she spotted Snape seated stiffly on a tattered moss-colored couch against the far wall. Choosing quickly between the far end of the aforementioned couch and the nearby fold-out chair, Hermione perched herself just as stiffly only one cushion over.

"Were you worried that we were maltreating the elves?" Snape asked quietly, his tone weary. "Or perhaps you questioned their safety? Just because you were admitted into the building, it does not mean we do not have wards. They've simply been altered to recognize you."

Hermione nodded her understanding, and then added, "No... I mean, that wasn't what I was thinking. Or, at least, that isn't why I'm here." She fell silent. It was one thing for Snape to find her sobbing in front of a closet full of elves; it was another matter entirely to explain herself, so she changed the subject. "Er, what brings you to the office at this hour?"

"There are only so many alterations one can make to the security of a Muggle building. I could ward my flat, yes, but the rest of the building... it seems the media invasion has begun." He was being oddly gentle with her again. Perhaps he knew that Hermione felt bad enough as it was without hearing about his having to sleep in his office and had decided for once to take pity on her.

Unfortunately for him, and really anyone in earshot, it only served to trigger Hermione's sobs again. Loud, moaning sobs, her face gathered in her hands, loose snot mixing with salty tears, runaway tendrils caught in the chaos. Though she couldn't seem to stop, she was mortified by the high pitched whine she kept emitting. Her mortification increased two fold when she felt Snape's heavy hand on her shoulder, precariously placed, just on the edge of the shoulder blade with a clear escape route in sight.

"Miss Granger... Hermione... it's no trouble... no need to... upset yourself." Had Hermione had any control at that moment, she might have laughed. Was he taking comforting lessons from Thomas? Or perhaps Ron was teaching a distance course. The difference was that this was Severus Snape comforting her, and that difference alone made her stop crying.

Sitting up and finally revealing what she guessed was the disastrous result of mixing tears and makeup, Hermione took a deep, but quivering breath. She could feel the empty sobs still vibrating her chest, but she was careful to keep breathing deeply. As she felt Snape's hand tentatively slink off of her shoulder, she made another quick decision and grabbed it. To his credit, Snape didn't pull it away, only sat there, suddenly taking an interest in his black leather boots.

"I am sorry about all of the trouble I've caused you." She paused to smile slightly. "That's quite an apology, I know. The way I've worded it, you see, it can encompass even my earliest infractions. From robe burning to outing for the media, I've tried to make it simple enough."

Snape was still quite focused on his boots, still shiny from yesterday's cleaning. However, she intuitively knew he was actively listening.

"That felt so easy, apologizing to you like that. I've spent so many nights rewording it, adding and subtracting words and thoughts, playing with the tone, the theme. Yet, that last reincarnation was the closest I've come to getting it right during this entire trip. And to think, I hadn't even imagined getting the chance to apologize even once."

She placed his hand in her lap, laying it flat against her skirt-covered thighs. Flopped there, palm-side up, it was easy to forget it was attached to the brooding man beside her. She stretched out the fingers and examined the lines cut into his flesh. All she could remember from Divination was where the life line was, that weeping line closest to the thumb. Given the size of his hand, Snape's was twice the size of Hermione's. They could have guessed his amazing survival based on that clue alone.

"Then there are my parents. Wendell and Monica Wilkins, they're called now, I believe. That was the identity I tried to give them, at least." Hermione nibbled on the interior of her lip, dragging her fingers across Snape's calloused ones. "I could apologize to them at any time, really. I would have to fix their memory for it to mean anything, but their ignorance could provide an opportunity to practice it." She wrinkled her nose. "That thought disgusts me. Actually, it disgusts me even more that I've never practiced my apologies to them in my head. Not like yours. It would mean I was practicing to face them, that I truly had plans to stop being a coward."

Hermione looked over at Snape, he was still looking at his boots, but he allowed his eyes to sweep sideways and meet hers for a second casting them downward again.

"Their faces were just like Anna's, shocked by their daughter, maybe even appalled by her actions. They never really felt comfortable with magic. As a child, I thought they knew everything there was to know about everything. But just in that moment, when I told them all that Harry, Ron and I would be doing, they looked so lost and helpless. And there I was, using it against them." Hermione closed her eyes. "I can't regret saving them. But I can't stop regretting my treatment of them before that. I never took the time to properly explain everything. They never knew..."

Snape knew what she hadn't shared with her parents, of that Hermione was certain. So instead of finishing that thought, she turned her body to face his, never relinquishing his hand. "These regrets are so heavy, Severus." She couldn't call him Snape, not right now. "How I failed you, how I failed my parents, my behavior afterwards. Even those things I kept trying to fix, my friendships, hell the rights of elves, none of them benefitted from this dead horse I've been dragging around."

"Then you need to bury it in the ground," Snape finally said. He had effectively planted his eyes on Hermione's. "I won't lie to you, regrets don't become lighter the more years you carry them. In fact, in my experience, they only seem to gain sympathy weight."

Hermione snorted, a wet, snotty snort causing her to wipe her nose again. "Well, I suppose I can assume you've forgiven me, as you're yet to insult me for the hour."

Snape actually smiled, wryly, but still. "I do believe that was resolved a day or so ago. We are letting bygones be bygones, correct?"

"Yes," Hermione affirmed, smiling slightly herself. "I suppose now there's just my parents then. I'll have to see them, won't I? I know I'm making it sound like a chore, but I really do want to see them. It's just... how will I ever explain... everything?"

"Slowly," Severus replied seriously. "Few regrets can ever really be fixed properly, but you have the opportunity, Hermione. And knowing you, you won't rest until you've fixed it. It won't be easy but..."

"...I'll never know if I don't try," Hermione finished with a sigh. She had known all along that she would have to face them one day, but with each new investigation, it just seemed easier to put it off. Maybe they were happier now, with another daughter, even, but Hermione knew she couldn't keep living like she had been. She had to know for sure. Anyway, given the way things had been going, she didn't imagine there would be any new investigations for her after this.

Looking up at Snape again, Hermione managed a sad smile. "Thank you for listening. I know you didn't have to, nor, I'm sure, did you want to, but it has really helped. I've been bottling it up for so long, I suppose. Ron was never a proper listener, and I didn't want to burden Harry. Thinking about it now, it was still foolish not to talk to them about it. It has been nice talking to you, though."

It was Snape's turn to snort. "I'm certain you're the first to have ever said that, but I will take the compliment nonetheless."

Hermione yawned, finally feeling relaxed enough to sleep. The thought of schlepping back to the hotel room was definitely unappealing, but that left her with only one other option. "Er, this is sort of a strange request, but would you mind terribly if I slept on this couch tonight? A bit lazy, I know, but I'm completely knackered."

Severus raised an eyebrow, but acceded. Rising from the couch, he asked, "Do you require any..."

"Oh, no," Hermione quickly answered. "No, I'll be fine."

And then an embarrassing realization hit her. "Oh, you weren't planning on... sleeping here, were you?" She should have added a clause to that apology, a pre-apology for future offenses. No wonder she had failed so terribly at writing laws.

To her surprise, Snape smirked. "I wouldn't be caught dead attempting to sleep on that thing. There is an air mattress in my office."

"Oh," Hermione responded simply, somehow still feeling embarrassed by the discussion. "Right, well, I suppose it's goodnight, then."

"You'll have to unhand me first." Snape finished the statement by lifting his hand slightly, still caught in the grip of both of hers.

It's amazing that I haven't managed to succumb to mortification by this point in my life. "Sorry," she apologized softly as she let his hand slip from her grip.

A small swish from Snape's wand and the lights were off. Hermione stretched out on the couch, falling asleep to the sound of Snape's receding footsteps for the second time this trip. And if she wasn't mistaken, she might have heard him say, "It was my pleasure, Hermione."

A/N: Thank you to my hardworking beta, justine 34, and my equally hardworking Brit-picker, magicalpresence, for their corrections and suggestions.

Hermione's line, 'Even those things I kept trying to fix, my friendships, hell the rights of elves, none of them benefitted from this dead horse I've been dragging around,' and Snape's reply, 'Then you need to bury it in the ground,' are both references to the lyrics of Florence + the Machine's "Shake It Out."

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