Four

Many thanks to my beta, Soul Bound.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, and exhaustion coursed through her. But with a child on her lap and the warmth of a real fire at her back, she could almost pretend she was back home where she ached to be. The witch slowly opened her eyes and from her cross-legged position on the floor took in the dim, crowded room...why was she looking out into a sea of wizard legs again? The young woman idly observed that sensible shoes ruled the day here with both witches and wizards. The witch sniggered quietly to herself that she must quell her desire to dash out and buy a pair of red, six-inch stiletto heels. Hermione moved her shoulders appreciatively as the relaxing heat from the fire slowly untied the knots in them. Magically enhanced fires could never do that, and they were useless for relaxing in front of--one always expected someone to pop out at any given moment. Full marks to the Weasleys for keeping a real fireplace intact, she thought.

The little girl in her arms stirred, drowsily opening her blue eyes and then shutting them again with a flutter. Hermione drew her black cloak around them, cocooning both of them in its warmth and protection. Katie Rose drifted back to sleep with a few snuffling noises, and Hermione smiled warmly down at her. The witch felt sorry for her. The little girl must have had a difficult few days with only adults for company. In the South she would have had at least three other children to be with, which would have helped insulate her from the surrounding grief.

Hermione was grateful to the child though, as she was able to sit next to the fire instead of having to try and engage in conversation with the people here. She was not exactly excelling in that area; nor was anyone rushing to seek out her company. In fact it was the complete opposite. Whereby the same people who had so easily included her only last night made her feel like she had contracted a highly infectious disease this evening. Hermione had been slow in working out what was going on. Sure, she had never been the most popular person, but she normally didn't repel people either. It was when Hermione found herself standing alone for the fourth time in quick succession that she thought something peculiar was going on. She dashed to the bathroom to check she had blown her nose properly during the service and to make sure she had not been mysteriously overcome with a stench that she had not been able smell. With all her bodily functions seemingly in check, she had reluctantly emerged from the bathroom again.

Hermione had scanned the crowd and had seen a worn out Fleur struggling with an overtired Katie Rose. Close by there were a group of witches looking at the mother and daughter, shaking their heads and whispering.

'Hi, Fleur.' Hermione was rewarded with the first genuine look of warmth all evening.

'Hermione, I'm so glad to see you finally. Bill said he saw you last night.'

The two witches embraced, and Hermione nodded her head towards the huddle of muttering witches. 'Let's get Katie Rose away from these eyes, shall we?'

Fleur rolled her eyes and nodded. 'Please, yes. I hate it.'

Hermione squatted down beside Katie Rose. 'Hey, Katie Rose, do you live here?'

The little girl nodded, looking at Hermione in assessment.

'That's good. I'm wondering if you could help me because I'm looking for a warm fireplace to sit by. I'm feeling a bit cold – do you know where one is?'

The girl nodded again solemnly but with a flicker of interest showing in her eyes.

'You do – that's great. Could you show me where it is?'

The girl nodded again and, taking her by the hand, led her away. 'I'll show you some funny-shaped firewood too,' the little girl said conversationally without a backward glance.

Fleur looked bemusedly relieved as Hermione waved for her to stay if she wanted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Weasley with a harsh look on her face step forward and Bill interceding with a frown on his normally easy-going face.

It was strange, reflected Hermione, wrapping her arms closer around the sleeping girl; she had felt sure the chant went well. It had taken all her concentration to say it correctly in Latin, and she never entered the effortless dream state that she normally did when she led it in the ancient tongue. But when she finished, she could feel the room thrumming with magic and had sighed deeply in relief. Hermione was satisfied she had built the magic up, despite using Latin for the chant. It was the one thing she hadn't been sure she would be able to do. Also, when she met with Professor McGonagall briefly afterwards, the older witch's eyes were full of respect, and she had quietly said to her, 'Well done,' before moving away to do the mandatory social rounds in her roles as Headmistress and Head of the Order.

It was afterwards, here at this gathering of Order Members at the Burrow, that things started to go strangely. It was the way people shifted their eyes away from her, as if desperately hoping she wouldn't single them out and strike up a conversation with them. The young witch had thought she'd been so careful, but she must have made a faux pas unknowingly – but what could it have been? She pondered for a bit, then looked down at the sleeping girl's face in perfect repose and sighed heavily.

'Hey, Hermione, are you okay? You look tired.'

Hermione glanced up as Fleur gently put a hand on her shoulder.

'I'll be all right. Just the last couple of days catching up on me, I suppose.'

'Thank you so much for looking after Katie Rose; I couldn't believe it when I looked over and saw her snuggling up against you.'

'I think she was really tired. She's just delightful, and I'm glad I could give you a break.'

'Hi, Hermione.' Bill grinned as he came and stood near his wife. 'I see you've worked your magic putting our daughter to sleep.'

Hermione laughed quietly and pointed out, 'There was no magic needed, only one sleepy little girl.'

Bill bent down and gently lifted the sleeping Katie Rose from her arms. He turned and quietly whispered, 'Thanks.'

The three of them slowly worked their way across the room and up some stairs.

No excuses now, Hermione told herself sternly as she stood up. She scanned the chatty crowd and saw Harry surrounded by a group of younger Order members, none whom were familiar to her. Hermione hadn't spent any time with Harry, so she decided this was a good opportunity to catch up. The young witch quietly moved her way towards him, people parting surprisingly easily, and stood on the periphery of the group. A sweaty, red-faced Harry was spouting forth with great passion on some finer details of Quidditch, and the younger Order members seemed to be lapping it up. But after listening to the tirade for what felt like ten minutes, Hermione had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at his arrogance. Sure, she didn't know that much about Quidditch nor was she actually that interested, but even she could tell Harry was stating things which made him appear the only true expert on the sport. There was also absolutely no two-way conversation with anyone – it was Harry who held the speaking stick, and he wasn't sharing. The younger witches and wizards made the occasional appreciative noises, and then Harry was off again, seemingly engrossed in the sound of his voice. When one tall, blonde-haired boy did hesitantly offer a differing opinion from one of Harry's more outrageous remarks, he just rudely talked over the boy, stating his opinion forcefully again. Hermione began to understand what Luna was talking about and the possible reason for the falling out between Harry and Ron.

'Hey, Hermione, I didn't see you there,' Harry boomed, focussing his over-bright eyes on her. Almost simultaneously, the mousy-haired witch and the tall, gangly wizard on either side of her edged away.

Hermione almost snorted in amazement. She had been standing here for ages, and he'd only just noticed her, which were impressively bad observation skills in anybody's books.

'Your Latin was incredible – we didn't learn it like that at school,' he remarked loudly.

All the younger members looked at her and glanced away again with barely disguised disgust.

'I picked up on it when I was down South – you know how traditional they are,' explained Hermione quietly, softly smiling up at him.

'Yeah, well, you always were a fast learner. You said 'traditional,' but from what I've heard, 'backward' is the best word...' Harry asserted aggressively.

Hermione was taken aback at his directness; this certainly wasn't the Harry she knew. Sure, he wasn't always the best at reading social cues, but this...

He said in a loud whisper, which meant the group instantly stepped in closer, '...I heard they only wash once a week, which probably explains why they smell so much. Ron told me that the women just, you know, do it with anyone, and nobody minds, and they have children literally pouring out of them, and none of them know who their fathers are. I'm just really pleased that you haven't taken up their ways, Hermione, or you would have had at least three children by now and probably be dirt poor. You've kept to what you are good at, you know, like learning. Just look at the way you spoke Latin today. Although I think it's a total waste, you living down there. They are just uncivilized and won't appreciate a proper witch.'

Hermione was horrified at Harry's rude outpourings. He barely had time to take a breath, so intent on what he was saying. When he stopped, she quite literally didn't know what to say – she was beyond stunned. Hermione glanced at the faces of the others and noticed they also looked surprised, but she wondered if it was because Harry also appeared rude to them or because they actually believed what he said. The only thing she could think of to say was a tightly muttered, 'You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Harry.' Which afterwards, when she thought about it, was a lame reply.

Luckily, Ginny saved her from anymore of Harry's ill-informed ideas. The red-head called out and pushed past Hermione so that she could link arms with him.

'Harry, Mum would like a word with you now – sorry to interrupt.' And without a look in Hermione's direction, she led Harry away.

Rapidly the younger members dispersed from around her, and Hermione was soon standing alone again. She looked about the room and saw Professor McGonagall with a glass of whiskey in her hand, deep in conversation with a long-bearded wizard. With a tired sigh, Hermione turned and saw a table of food and drink in the far corner of the room. She hadn't eaten in what felt like and probably was days. Well, maybe it would make her feel more positive and less tired, she thought, and she made a beeline for it.

There were considerably fewer people on this side of the room, and it was dimmer, she noted, but the food looked and smelt delicious, so she helped herself to a golden brown, cheesy sort of pastry and a big glass of pumpkin juice. Her stomach rumbled in anticipated appreciation. She took a big bite and promptly gagged at the dreadful, bitter taste. Hermione inwardly groaned. She kept forgetting it was customary here to use magic when cooking and found it hard to believe they couldn't taste it. Hermione glanced around and discreetly spat it out into a napkin and put it in a nearby bin. Frowning at yet another thing that had gone wrong this evening, she wandered away from the table, her stomach voicing loud protests. She sipped her juice; drinks at least were palatable, thank goodness, although they still had a distinctive metallic taste. Hermione then worked out that the Butterbeer and the Firewhisky last night was bitter, and it wasn't because of the alcohol. Hermione discreetly looked at her watch and stifled a groan – there was no way she could politely leave without seeming rude. Nobody else was leaving, and she certainly didn't want to be the first.

Hermione looked about and was pleased to see nobody else close by; it made her feel less like a social pariah, especially when everybody else seemed so chatty. She located an empty armchair tucked away in the shadows of a corner; she would just sit there and have a rest until it was time to leave.

Hermione sat down with a groan of tiredness.

'Good Evening, Miss Granger.' A deep voice suddenly emerged from the shadow.

She leapt up in fright, spilling her pumpkin juice and giving an undignified yelp.

'Good Lord, you gave me a fright!' Hermione sat back down and peered to see who had spoken. Her stomach dropped when she made out the harsh features of Snape sitting motionless in the dark.

'Hmmm, so it would seem.'

Oh, yes, how could she have not recognized that voice after sitting for years in his classroom? There was an awkward moment of silence while Hermione grappled with the implications of sitting next to the Potions master. This was the person who murdered Dumbledore. What on earth should she say to him? What could she say? She also rapidly realized that, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't run in the opposite direction either. Oh, Merlin, strike her down now, please! There was only one route she had: politeness – her mum had taught her well.

'Good Evening, Professor Snape. This is indeed a surprise. I didn't see you there.' Hermione tried to sound as unflustered as possible but knew she probably hadn't pulled it off.

'I believe that was the intention.'

Hermione's mind whirled in circles. What did he mean by that? Did he intend to scare her? Or did he intend for nobody to see him? And why would he intend to do either of those things? She had fewer than twenty words from him, and already she was utterly confused. Hermione had no idea how to negotiate standard wizarding society without falling flat on her face. How was she supposed to have a conversation with the anomaly that was known as Professor Snape? The young witch owned the silence, and it was deafening; she felt her cheeks redden and tried desperately to think of what to say to him.

'Oh,' she managed to utter. Even to her own ears, it was pathetic-sounding.

To her complete surprise, Professor Snape leaned forward, bringing himself out of the shadows. His sharp, black eyes turned on her, and Hermione felt she was being minutely examined in his intense gaze. Snape was exactly the same as she remembered him – even down to the black robes over a black frock coat. At least at a funeral it was in keeping, Hermione thought wryly, forgetting for the moment the colour of her own usual attire. She then felt a whiff of something familiar about him but quickly forgot it when the wizard unexpectedly pulled from deep inside his cloak a sprig of silvery foliage. He held it out to her, positioning his long fingered hands correctly – in the manner of an offering.

'I do believe it is the custom for service rendered,' he said silkily in no more than a whisper.

Hermione's jaw dropped, and she broke eye contact to quickly glance around – nobody was watching, thank goodness. She rapidly thought, he knows... But how would Snape of all people know? Was he sympathetic, or did he seek to destroy? Hermione felt a momentary easing in her and knew intuitively what to do: she leant forward as gracefully as she could, given the situation, and accepted the sprig of wormwood with the traditional acceptance movements of an initiate and tucked it behind her ear. Hermione saw Snape's eyes momentarily widen, and to her amazement, Snape lowered his head in respect.

'Oh, Hermione, there you are. I can hardly see you. It is positively gloomy over here; no wonder everybody is squashed together on that side where they can actually see. They really should do something about the lighting,' came Professor McGonagall's quick voice.

Hermione swung herself rapidly around to face the older witch, and Snape disappeared back into the shadow.

The Headmistress stood in front of them and had the slightest smile playing on her lips. 'Oh, and a good evening to you, Severus. I'm pleased to see that you could make it.'

'Good Evening, Minerva. I am where I am expected to be, as you full well know.'

'Yes, and I appreciate the gesture, even if others do not,' she said in a quiet undertone Hermione could only just catch. Then she switched to her normal brisk tone, 'But I do think it is acceptable for us to leave now if you like. I most definitely need to go home, as I have another full day tomorrow. And you, Severus, if you want. We can leave together, and nobody can complain.'

+++

Despite her heavy tiredness, sleep did not come easily to Hermione as she lay in bed later that night. Her mind buzzed with agitation – there were just too many unexpected twists today. Snape's apparent knowledge of her traditions was most definitely the biggest surprise. Hermione picked up the sprig of wormwood from the bedside table and breathed in its distinctive spicy bouquet. How could it even be possible? It just did not make sense – Snape of all people. Hermione shook her head in amazement. But he had known it was appropriate to offer foliage or a flower to her and had placed his hands perfectly as a sign of an offering. Even Athena would have had difficulty positioning them as precisely. Snape had also bowed his head, which meant he understood her movements enough to know who she was. Someone had taught Snape, Hermione realized. He must have had a hidden family connection with the South.

But Hermione was not even sure what she thought of him. A cruel, sadistic but brilliant master came first to mind; she had both hated and loved Potions as a student. However, it had also not been a great surprise to hear it was Snape who murdered Dumbledore; everyone knew the Potions master was capable of it. But then Dumbledore's Pensieve must have been convincing to withstand the outcry from the public, who were baying for blood, and the reluctance of the Ministry to pardon him. Emotions were running high at that time, she remembered.

It was also interesting how the Potions master had been sitting virtually invisible in the shadows at the Burrow. Was he hiding? ... or observing? ... or maybe spying? Hermione swallowed nervously. She did not like Snape knowing anything about her or her life. He was a dangerous man.

Feeling the feathery small leaves and supple stems on her fingertips, Hermione decided to concentrate on a thing she did know: wormwood; an interesting choice of foliage to offer her, and Hermione was sure it was not a random choice, given what she remembered about Snape's precise nature and his previous and possibly current role as a spy.

The witch mentally went through the lists of wormwood usage: making absinthe, an ingredient in vermouth, martini and beer. Hermione chuckled when she realized it was the alcoholic uses she remembered first after all these years. She doubted Snape had given it to her for those reasons, however enjoyable. Hermione went back to her mental list: used to get rid of fleas, insects and intestinal worms. Nope, that can't be right either, she concluded, still smiling.

Wormwood... Artemisia Absinthium... Absinthium... bitter... hmm... Snape had taught it in potions as an ingredient in antidotes to poisons. It was also used as an antidote for the venom of water dragons – not exactly useful. But an antidote to poisons could be something. What was Snape telling her? But exhaustion overtook her, so Hermione rolled over and fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed of a young Harry, scared and crying over and over and over again.