Thirteen

Many thanks to my beta, Soul Bound.

Hermione wrapped her cloak around her and tried to get comfortable in the armchair, but couldn't. Her forehead itched like hell, her mouth tasted like a dump, and she knew she stank to high heaven. Her hair was in dreadlocks, her stupid right hand was so heavily bandaged it was utterly useless, the muscles in her back hurt, and she was bored, bored, bored. The problem with being sick, Hermione grumbled, was that at some point, one has to get better. Now, she was utterly grateful for the important fact of being alive, but right now she wanted to go back to that netherworld of blissful unawareness. On second thought, Hermione realized, there was no way she wanted to return to the all-consuming pain. But still, today felt like the real world came crushing in, and she wasn't sure she was up to it yet.

Hermione moved again, trying to ease the muscles in her back, but it was utterly impossible to get comfortable; too many hours of lying on her side, unable to move, had sent her muscles all askew. But she couldn't spend another minute in bed either, and sleep as a means of an escape was unfortunately no longer an option. Not being able to settle, Hermione eased herself slowly out of the chair and sat down on the mat in front of the fire, groaning like an old woman. This was far more comfortable even if the mat smelt old and musty. The cloak she wore was itchy, but she had to have something on other than her silly, skimpy hospital gown, which did nothing to keep her warm or actually cover her at all. Hermione had tried valiantly this morning to put on the black shirt from Snape, but couldn't fit her bandaged hand through the sleeve, and there was no way she could have negotiated the buttons on the trousers. So she was stuck all day wearing her hospital gown with the heavy cloak over it, not that anyone was around to notice, thank goodness. But then again, she was grateful for its warmth when she made the long treks outside to go to the loo. Outside toilets...oh, the joys of rural living.

Hermione had also closely examined the runes Harry had sewn in her clothes at least a hundred times. She'd actually made a fairly good guess at the reasons for them, but was still impressed and surprised at the unique application. When Snape had come by late last night, he'd explained that both the runes and the type of material used acted as an insulating shield between her and the magic prevalent at Hogwarts. Apparently, the type of cloth used was quite rare, so Snape had sent some of his clothes to a tailor to be altered to her size. Hermione had almost laughed out loud when Snape told her that, thinking it must be some sort of joke, her having to wear Snape's clothes, but stopped just in time when she saw the uptight expression on his face.

Snape hadn't stayed long last night but brought with him a delicious, thick broth for her to have. She suspected he had cooked it himself, but he was in distant mood and looked tired, so she didn't feel right asking. Hermione thought he must have been overseeing detentions or had some staff or head of house meeting, as he didn't arrive until late and seemed distracted. He'd efficiently checked her bandaging, brought her the broth and left again shortly. Snape had said that he'd come after class this afternoon to check on her again.

The first part of the morning had actually been okay. She'd woken alert but restless, so she slowly wandered around the hut, exploring and generally poking about. There wasn't anything of interest, not even a book to read. Hermione then started missing her mum, who she always remembered more intensely when she was sick, and that then led on to her thinking about her dad, who had been incredibly supportive of her. It was he who had encouraged her to attend Hogwarts when they'd received that letter all those years ago. The day carried on in an ever-descending spiral of loneliness, homesickness and worry. She missed her people back home, especially her little boy, and wondered indulgently if they were missing her too. Hermione couldn't work out when the Nine-Night feast was, but she knew it must be coming up and found some happiness thinking of them busy with the preparations, abuzz with excited anticipation. She realized with sadness that it would be the first time in seven years she wasn't with them to celebrate it.

Her grief for Ron reawakened, and she wept for him until no tears were left, and she had to have a cup of tea. While sipping on it, Hermione knew with a harsh clarity that Ron's last moments alive would have been awful in their sheer terror. She would never tell anyone, but knew it for the certainty it was. Hermione's hate for Voldemort pulsed through her, tangible in its intensity. Her years away had faded the brutal cruelty of his actions, but she had been sharply reminded again. If it hadn't been for him, Ron would be alive, her Mum and Dad would be alive, Harry's parents would be alive, Dumbledore would be alive, Hagrid would be alive, Percy and Mr. Weasley would be alive and countless others would be alive right now. How many people had had their lives filled with grief and despair because of him? Hermione seethed; what gave him the right to decide if a person should live or die? How dare he even think about trying to kill her? For all the people he had killed and for all the lives shattered as a result of him, she wanted him destroyed out of existence. Hermione knew she was a very different person from who she'd been when she went into hiding all those years ago and pondered long and hard on how to use her skills to annihilate Voldemort. There would be a way...she just knew it.

Her mind turned to the question of how the Death Eaters had known when and where to attack her and Snape. Somebody must have leaked the information out to them...but who? Hermione recalled how Snape had become aware of the Death Eaters' presence in the lane. It was like he was listening into another frequency...one she wasn't tuned for. Hermione found it intriguing in its oddness. She would have been a sitting duck if Snape hadn't been there...that much was obvious.

Hermione realized how grateful she was to Snape. If he hadn't been there both during the attack and afterwards to take care of her, she wouldn't be here right now...plain and simple. Not many wizards could have withstood an attack of that intensity, and even fewer would know about the complexities of the different magic and also be knowledgeable enough to know how to heal her. The young witch understood deeply that Snape had been fated to be with her that day. She decided that she would no longer think of him as Snape the vindictive teacher who tormented students for fun, but would relate to him as she would a member of the circle. It was just too difficult to reconcile the two versions of the same man. In any case, Snape had set the tone by revealing himself to her right from the start and relating entirely to her as a member would to an initiate, never as a teacher to a former student. When Hermione thought about the extreme manner in which the visions revealed themselves to her, she was surprisingly comforted knowing that he was around. She knew the coming weeks would be difficult.

Hermione sighed deeply, bunching up her cloak into a pillow and laying her head down on it. For the first time that day, the muscles in her back relaxed as the fire warmed her. She must have dozed off, as the next thing she heard was the door, and she saw Snape in his full teaching robes stalk into the hut in the same manner he would enter the Potions classroom...his eyes sharply registering everything in the room in one cool sweep. Hermione became aware that she was lying down with her stupid, skimpy hospital gown twisted up around her and quickly sat up covering her legs with the cloak.

'My lady, how are you feeling today?' He lowered himself into one of the armchairs with a flick of his robe and looked carefully down at her sitting in front of the fire.

'Oh, all right, I suppose, my teacher,' Hermione replied, trying to drum up some enthusiasm in her voice. She was sure he wouldn't want to know what a miserable day she'd had after all he'd done to heal her.

Snape must have heard the tone in her voice as he continued looking at her with an eyebrow raised, as if expecting her to carry on, but when she didn't, he asked, 'And the pain?'

'Much better. I've been up most of today and only fell asleep just before you came.' Hermione fiddled with the edge of the cloak, feeling miserable and hating herself for feeling like that.

'That is good. Have you been drinking the tea?'

'Yes, and I finished off the broth as well. I can't seem to do much with my hand bandaged like this; even simple things are difficult.'

'Yes, I would imagine,' Snape said, standing up. 'I will take a look now.'

Hermione got up clumsily from the mat, wrapping the cloak around herself for modesty's sake, moved across the hut and laid down on the bed. Snape had gone to the kitchen to gather the things he needed.

'I will start with the forehead, my lady.' He removed the bandages and wiped antiseptic lotion over it. 'I can take these stitches out.' Hermione closed her eyes, felt the tugging and heard his slow breathing. The wind had picked up outside; she listened to it blowing around the corners of the house and the creaks and groans of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. She remembered that Harry was supposed to call by sometime today. She hoped he wouldn't come while Snape was here...that would be awkward.

'You will feel better with these out, my lady,' Snape commented quietly as he finished putting a lighter bandage over her forehead. He moved onto her wand hand and was starting to unwrap it when the door burst open, and in came a sweating, shirtless Harry, carrying a huge load of firewood.

Ah, he still has the most superb body, sighed Hermione. All those years of Quidditch playing really did amount to something. Oh, shit...Snape...she quickly glanced up and caught him running his eyes appreciatively over Harry's body before his guard came crashing quickly down. So... Snape likes to admire a fine form too, noted Hermione to herself, finding it amusing.

Harry frowned, and his eyes flashed angrily the moment he saw Snape. The Potions master, however, continued to unwrap the bandage as if nobody had entered the hut, but Hermione knew he was acutely aware of Harry.

'Hermione. Professor Snape,' Harry curtly acknowledged as he strode rapidly across the room, dropping the wood in the box with a crash.

'Mr. Potter,' Snape replied briefly without looking up.

'Hi, Harry,' Hermione greeted almost guiltily. She couldn't help feeling as if Harry had caught her with another lover.

'I'll catch up with you later, Hermione, when you are not busy,' he said as he tossed a few stray logs into the wood box.

'Yeah, sure, thanks for doing that.' Hermione smiled at him but felt the electric-like hostility running between Harry and Snape. She could tell that Harry was only being civil because she was present.

'No problems.' Harry gave her a small smile, turned heel and rapidly exited the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Snape returned his attention back to her hand and quietly muttered, almost to himself, 'Of course, he is Muggle raised.'

'Sorry, my teacher?' Hermione frowned.

'Because he is Muggle raised, he cannot feel the magic as strongly.' He continued plastering her hand with a cooling lotion.

It was a strange comment for Snape to say about Harry. 'What do you mean, my teacher? I don't understand.' Hermione looked down at her hand. It looked a lot better than it had, and the blistering had gone down considerably.

'Normally, a wizard or witch, even a powerful one, would have difficulties even entering this room, but I now remember Mr. Potter was not wizard-raised.' Snape started rebandaging her hand again.

Hermione was surprised at how neutral Snape was about Harry; she was expecting some sort of hostility towards him, but couldn't detect any. 'So you mean, the magic I reacted to at Hogwarts is similar to what wizards and witches would feel if they come in here?'

'Yes, only they feel it more physically. But generally, Muggle-raised wizards and witches' reactions are not as severe, hence Mr. Potter being able to walk in here seemingly unaffected by it.' Snape finished the bandaging of her hand. 'How does that feel?'

Hermione moved her hand and saw the bandaging wasn't wrapped as thickly, which allowed her fingers some movement. 'Much better, thank you, my teacher. So the magic they feel, where is it coming from?'

'Us...but I have to say mostly you, especially after you had your vision. That was partly the reason I moved you so rapidly away from Hogwarts.'

Hermione sat up and tried to ease her gown forward so Snape could look at the wound on her chest, but got into a tangle.

'Just a moment.' Snape leaned around her, untangled her gown and eased her arm through the sleeve. He smelt of aniseed or fennel or some other potion ingredients. 'Just lie back now.'

Hermione lay down and watched Snape as he peeled off the bandaging. 'I haven't heard or even read anything about this before. Of course, I had some idea about the magic at Hogwarts...I could taste it in the food, but I had no idea that they could sense the magic in me...I mean us.'

Snape looked down his hooked nose at her for a moment, then returned his concentration to unpicking the stitches. 'That is why it will be important for you to always wear the clothes I have provided when you return. They are not only designed to protect you from the type of magic used at Hogwarts, but also to prevent your magic from leaking out and affecting those around you.'

Hermione winced at the tugging and looked down at Snape with his furrowed brow and his rather elegant fingers unpicking her stitches. She thought, it's amazing how people can get used to the strangest things. Here was Snape, inches away from her naked left breast, and she was not heaving in disgust nor reddening in embarrassment, but having a civil, informative conversation with him. Hermione almost shook her head in wonderment, but remembered that she had to stay still. She then asked, 'Is that the reason why Professor McGonagall was acting oddly yesterday?'

'Quite likely. Your magic was flowing strongly as a result of your vision, and then on top of that, I used our magic to heal you. So wizard-raised people like the Headmistress would have struggled to withstand it.'

'But the Headmistress is such a powerful witch,' Hermione stated with surprise.

'Yes, and that is why she was the one I asked to assist me. Any other witch or wizard would have buckled under the strain. I also allowed Mr. Potter to come for that same reason, forgetting that he had the added strength of being Muggle-raised. They were the only people at Hogwarts who were close to you and could possibly withstand it.'

'I didn't know anything about this.' Hermione thought it was interesting that Snape put Harry on par with McGonagall in terms of magical strength and that he allowed Harry to visit her despite the animosity between the two of them.

'Not many people do.' Snape carefully bandaged the long wound. 'Now sit up.' He helped ease her arm through the sleeve again and retied the hospital gown up at the back. 'If you can roll over, I'll have a look at your back.'

Snape quickly changed the bandaging on her back, but with her face in the pillow, it was hard to continue the conversation, so she listened to the wind howling around the hut instead.

Hermione felt the bed move as Snape stood up and moved away. She stiffly rolled over and sat up. Snape was in the kitchen, clearing away the bandages and potions he'd used, so she carefully got out of bed, wrapping the cloak slowly around her again, and went back to the armchair next to the fire.

Snape moved soundlessly over to her and handed her a parcel without meeting her eyes. 'I have collected a few more items that you may need.' He returned quietly to the kitchen.

'Thanks.' Surprised, Hermione untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. Inside was a neatly folded, black frock coat. She ran her hands over it and felt the same heavy material as her cloak. When she unfolded it, she saw that runes had already been sewn into the velvety lining. Snape must have done that, thought Hermione, laying the coat to one side. She looked back at the parcel and rifled through it. There was a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a long black nightshirt, thick black leggings, several pairs of thick socks, several pairs of black knickers and a couple of bras. Hermione gulped...Snape had got her underwear as well...then shrugged; it was very practical of him, and it looked like he had picked her size with amazing accuracy, which was not surprising really. Everything here was badly needed if she wasn't going to biodegrade into a smelly mess on the floor.

'Thank you very much, my teacher,' she called over to the kitchen. 'I really do appreciate it.'

Snape turned from what he was doing and inclined his head at the thanks. 'I thought you needed a few more things. I know the cut of the clothes are rather old fashioned and somewhat masculine for you, but the only tailor I know who can work with this material is limited in the style of clothes he makes. If I had mentioned your gender to him, I am afraid you would have been wearing corseted dresses with matching bonnets. He is rather stuck in the fashions of his times, but they should fit you well. There will be more articles of clothing coming over the next few days.'

'Thank you, my teacher.' Hermione wasn't really sure what she thought about this, but she knew she was grateful to the wizard for organizing it all for her. 'I hope I haven't used up too much of your clothing.'

'No, not at all. I have acquired a fair amount of it over the years.'

Snape came over to her with a huge basin of steaming water and a towel draped over his arm. 'Unfortunately there is no running water here, so this will have to suffice for washing. I will be cooking outside in the shed should you need anything.' He set down the basin in front of the fire and placed the soap, cloth and towel beside it. He walked over to the fire and threw more logs onto it before leaving with a sweep of his robe.

When the door closed with click, Hermione got up out of the armchair eagerly and went over to the basin, shucking her cloak off quickly. She longed to be clean again and knew that she would feel better for it. The young witch dipped her hand into the water to feel its temperature...perfect...scalding hot, just how she liked it. Hermione then tugged at her hospital gown, but couldn't get it off. Of course, it was tied up at the back. Hermione yanked at it a few more times, but that particular movement hurt her.

'Damn,' she cursed, hating being so reliant on Snape. Hermione stalked over to the door, and opened it. 'Excuse me, my teacher, could you help me for a moment.' Amongst the smell of trees, smoke and dampness, she could smell onions frying.

Snape strode over, his robes flapping and his black hair pulled back from his face. 'Everything all right, my lady?' He looked at her sharply, but there was no annoyance in the look.

'Um, just a bit of a problem with getting this gown off, my teacher.' Hermione shivered in the cold air.

'Of course, come inside.' Snape entered the hut. 'Turn around, my lady.'

Hermione felt him untying her gown. 'I can't even get this off by myself. Thank you, my teacher.'

'Everything will improve as your wounds heal. But now that I think of it, you may have some difficulties with the quantity of buttons in your new clothes. The tailor insists they are an important part of the shield, but I think he uses them as a way of tormenting me. I was not very nice to him at one stage.'

Hermione sniggered at Snape even admitting his ill temper and felt the cold air on her back as the last of the ties were undone.

'There you are, my lady. Try not to get the bandaging too wet. Is there anything else?'

'No, thank you, my teacher.'

Snape nodded and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Hermione returned to the basin next to the fire, and even though it was hardly a luxury bath, it certainly felt like one to her as she picked up the soap and used it to work up a lather in the flannel. Washing herself from a basin reminded her of the method used in the dry areas of the South. Stepping out of her hospital gown with considerable relief, she slopped the warm water all over her body; it felt like she was washing away all the torment of the last couple of days. Feeling much cleaner afterwards, she dug out the nightshirt, leggings and socks and managed to put them on without too much difficulty, then went over to the kitchen to clean her teeth.

She felt a lot better, but still had the underlying restlessness that had pursued her all day. On the spur of the moment, Hermione pulled on her thick cloak and opened the door to walk out to the shed. The night air smelt nice, and it was so good to be outside the hut...she'd started to feel too confined in there. The wind whipped at her robes, and she pulled the hood over her head as she padded along the path. She smelt fish cooking, and her mouth watered. Hermione could see Snape stirring the cauldron in a relaxed manner through the open door.

'My lady, what are you doing out here?' He looked up sharply.

'I thought I'd come and see what you are doing. I hope you don't mind, my teacher. I was just sick of being in the hut.' Hermione hesitated, not sure if she should have come. Maybe she was intruding on his private time. She saw a play of different emotions run across his face but was unable to interpret any of them.

At last he gestured gracefully to her. 'Come in out of the cold, my lady.'

Hermione squeezed past him to get into the small, narrow room, which was no bigger than a small garden shed. It only consisted of a fire, above which was the cauldron with two benches on either side, and very little standing room.

'What are you cooking, my teacher?' Hermione asked, peering into the cauldron.

'Sole with mushrooms and capers.' He looked down at her closely. 'I think it would be best, my lady, if you sit down. While I understand you wanting to have a change of scenery, I do not want there to be any regression in your condition.'

Hermione looked about; there was nowhere for her to sit. Snape put his hands on her shoulders, guiding her to one side of the fire, and without any warning, lifted her effortlessly onto the clear corner of the bench and turned back smoothly to the cauldron. Hermione leaned against the wall, watching him take a bottle of wine and uncorking it with a practiced ease.

Snape glanced up at her, taking in her raised eyebrows, and eloquently shrugged his shoulders in the most Southern manner. 'It calls for it in the recipe.'

Hermione grinned. 'Of course.'

He pulled out two battered tin mugs and poured the wine into them.

'Do you think it will be all right?' Hermione asked, although wine sounded like a great idea to her.

'I think a small amount will do no harm. You are no longer taking any potions that would react adversely to it,' Snape said, handing her the mug. 'Best I can do, given these rustic conditions.'

'That's quite all right.' She watched him pour some wine into a bowl and add flour to it. 'Oh, I forgot. Cheers, my teacher.' And she lifted her mug to him.

Snape touched his mug to hers with a decided metallic clunk and said, 'To successful outcomes.'

'To successful outcomes,' replied Hermione, smiling. She took a sip from the mug, enjoying the taste of the dry white wine. There was a comfortable silence with only the crackling of the small fire and the howl of the wind around the hut. Snape was concentrating on stirring the ingredients in the bowl.

'Do you feel better for bathing, my lady?' Snape asked while adding the wine and flour mixture gently into the cauldron.

'Most definitely. It also feels nice to have clean clothes on.'

'Yes, I could well imagine. Once you return to Hogwarts, you will be able to have a proper bath. It is more difficult here with no plumbing.'

'Oh, no, it was fine,' Hermione absently assured. But the mention of plumbing sent her mind plunging back to the vision she had of Hogwarts under flood. It was the most intense, most horrible vision she had experienced. 'My teacher?'

'Yes?' Snape looked at her and must have read something in her face as he set down the ladle.

'When you drew me back that night, did I talk to you about where I'd been?' Hermione couldn't recall much other than the flood vision, but had a feeling of being embarrassed about something.

Snape leaned back on the bench and looked at her contemplatively. 'Yes, you did, my lady.' He looked about to say more, but stopped.

Hermione swallowed nervously at how she could have possibly reacted in her distressed state, but at the same time, she felt relieved that she'd instinctively trusted Snape enough to tell him. It meant that she could talk about the vision with him. 'He knew you were there to draw me back. He's never done something like that before.' Hermione looked down at the chipped mug.

'Really?' Snape sounded genuinely surprised.

'Yes, he knows of you. He has even got a name for you.' Hermione looked up again and saw Snape's black eyes full of curiosity.

'Really? Are you able to tell me what it is, my lady?'

Hermione smiled at Snape's rare, open expression of interest. 'Man of spring water. It's the way he sees people. I know it sounds strange, but it's hard to explain. When I am with him, it seems normal, and it's only when I talk about it that it sounds weird...not that I usually talk about it, actually.'

'No, no, it does not sound strange to me, my lady. I was honoured that you trusted me enough to tell me what you saw, but now to hear that he knows of me and on top of that has a name for me, well, I feel truly privileged.' Snape lowered his head in respect, then picked up the wine bottle and topped up her mug. 'If I may ask, how does he know me?' Snape set the wine bottle back down and absently tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and away from his face.

'He noticed you in the lane during the attack. That was when he first named you. He sees all humans primarily as elements.'

'Is that how you both killed the Death Eaters? That was a sight I have not seen before.' Snape leaned on the bench she was sitting on, his eyes glinting.

'Yes, and I have to say he wasn't impressed with your death curses,' Hermione said, remembering how dismissive of it he was.

'I am not surprised, considering the magic you both used. A death curse is mere child's play in comparison.' Snape smiled, shaking his head.

'When I am with him, it doesn't feel like that...it feels right somehow. Although, taking anyone's life is never done lightly.'

Snape nodded in agreement and took a sip out of his mug.

Hermione frowned in annoyance at her own incessant need to know. 'I hope I was all right after you drew me down.'

Snape looked thoughtfully at her and finally, after a time, answered her honestly. 'You were distressed, and it took some time for you to settle back into this reality...you did not want to come back...you wanted to stay with him.'

Hermione flushed as the images poured into her. Yes, that was why she had the feeling of embarrassment; she had behaved like an ungrateful child. 'I am sorry, my teacher. I don't usually behave like that.'

Snape placed his hand on her arm and gently chided her. 'Don't you apologize, my lady. You had been through a traumatic vision, and you did not even have a single person in support. I doubt many people could do what you do and still function in society. In addition, you had a curse eating into your back, putting your physical body under considerable stress. Do not ever apologize again...it is not right nor necessary.'

It was as if Snape's unexpected gentleness pierced her tightly held emotions, and to her horror, she felt her cheeks burn and her eyes start to well up. Hermione couldn't believe how out of control her body was and tried fiercely to beat down these emotions, wiping her hand over her face before she gave anything away. What was it about Snape? But Snape must have noticed, and she felt his arms go around her and was pulled in close to him, smelling the wood smoke on his robes. But that only made matters worse as now her nose started to run, and she had to sniff furiously.

'Here.' Snape put a black handkerchief into her hand, but didn't let go of her.

Hermione wiped her nose; she must have looked a right sight. 'I am so sorry, my teacher; I normally never cry for anything. I really don't know what has come over me these last few days. I am usually much stronger than this.'

He rolled his eyes at her and said in tones reminiscent of her former Potions master, 'I do not think you heard what I last said, my lady, about apologizing. Trust me...if I thought you needed to, I would be the first one to tell you.'

'Oh, yeah, sorry.... Oh, shit, I didn't mean that.' Hermione stumbled out, kicking herself at her stupidity, but was pulled into Snape's arms again, and she rested her head on his shoulder. It felt nice.

After a bit, Snape straightened and asked curiously, 'Are all your visions this intense, my lady?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No, nothing is working to a pattern. Even the manner in which the visions are coming to me is different. It's hard to fathom meaning without references. And yet their intensity tells me of their importance, which means it is vital for me to decode them. It's been frustrating because since the attack, I haven't been able to put any thought into them, and they nag me constantly.'

'Have you had any other visions since coming to Hogwarts?'

'Yes.' And she recounted her Harry as a child on the beach vision to him.

Snape took a sip of wine and commented, 'It seems Mr. Potter is an important person in what is to unfold.'

Hermione noted how neutrally Snape talked about Harry. She would never have known how they hated each other by his tone of voice. 'That's what I had worked out. So when McGonagall offered me a position here, it confirmed it even more.'

Snape frowned. 'But how, I wonder? It goes against the belief that he has no more role in this battle than anyone else.'

Hermione shrugged her shoulders resignedly. 'I honestly don't know, my teacher. This is the first time I haven't been able to work out my visions within a matter of hours.'

Snape stroked his chin contemplatively. 'The fact that it is you that has come could also be a factor in this as well.'

His comment triggered a bout of furious thinking. 'It's about Voldemort,' she said, then paused, unsure, 'but that can't be right, yet he's the reason I am here. He killed Ron. He's who we all thought Harry was to battle even if nobody believes it any more. Voldemort and Harry are linked if by Harry's scar and nothing else. I don't know how, but it has to be. Then there was what Voldemort did to me and my family.' Hermione stopped, not wanting to talk about what had happened all those years ago.

Snape nodded slowly. 'I think you are right. Your visions are somehow about the Dark Lord.'

Hermione tapped on her cup thoughtfully and noticed her ragged fingernails absently. 'But don't you think it's strange, my teacher, that the Southern ways are involving themselves with this wizarding society? It doesn't make sense.'

'It is not entirely surprising to me, my lady.' And for the first time that evening, Hermione noticed Snape's body tense as he moved away from her. 'The Dark Lord has had a fascination with Southern magic for some time, and he has a working understanding of its power.'

Hermione frowned. 'But for Southern magic to become involved, it must have been used enough for a pattern to be established.'

Snape dropped his eyes from hers. 'I do believe the Dark Lord is conversant in Southern magic enough to use it.'

Hermione swallowed at the horrifying thought. 'Oh. That changes everything, doesn't it?'

'Yes, my lady, I do believe it does.' Snape's face was expressionless.

Hermione would need to think carefully about these developments and was pleased that she could talk with Snape, although it was obvious he was edgy about something. Then she remembered what Harry had said last night. 'Harry told me I may have to stay at Hogwarts for a while.'

'Did he now?' Snape looked sharply at her.

'He said that Voldemort would be very interested in me now and that there could be an attack the moment I step outside Hogwarts' wards.' Hermione beat down her deep longing to see her brown little boy again.

Snape sighed. 'I must agree with Mr. Potter, although I abhor his lack of discretion. Yes, the Dark Lord will be interested in you now after the attack in the lane. It will be obvious to him, especially after the peculiarities that occurred during the first attack on you, that you are involved in Southern magic at a very deep level. He is invariable lured by any great power, and since Southern magic holds great fascination to him, you would be a great asset to him. I imagine your every move will be monitored.'

Hermione looked sharply at the black robed wizard and felt compelled to ask, 'Not by you, I hope, my teacher?'

Snape swallowed nervously, but looked her directly in the eye for a moment. Then completely unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed both her cheeks in the manner of close friends and whispered into her ear, 'No, my lady, I give you my oath. No matter what it seems, I will never to do anything to place you or yours in danger. Moreover, I give my oath to protect you and yours.'

Hermione nodded and automatically kissed his cheeks in return as acceptance of his oath.

Snape straightened and moved over to check the contents of the cauldron. 'This is now ready, my lady.' And he deftly poured the fish and the creamy sauce into a dish.

Hermione smiled. 'It smells delicious.'

Snape moved back to her and smoothly lifted her down from the bench. Hermione wrapped her cloak firmly around her and paused at the door to allow Snape walk through first.