Chapter Six: Old Acquaintance, New... Friend?

Most days, Hermione crept through the Ministry going about her usual routine–see if any of her traps had rewarded her with breakfast; throw another desk leg or piece of a chair onto the fire that she was afraid to let die; watch fake rain drip down fake windows; try not to remember what her life was like before this all started; refuse to think about the people she loved.

Today the fire was out and she and kept to the shadows, barely daring to breath. There was someone else in the Ministry.

She'd heard noises in the Minister's office the night before, while checking her makeshift traps on that floor. The sound of someone hitting the ground as they dropped down from the street was unmistakable. Without taking a moment to see who it was, she'd darted down the stairs as quietly as possible and covered the fire with ashes, smothering the flames. She knew that she wouldn't be able to hide the fact that someone had been there, but she hoped to at least hide herself. And then she grabbed a chair leg, the closest thing she could find to a weapon on short notice, and went to Arthur Weasley's office, hiding under the desk in the dark.

All night she had sat up, listening. She'd heard someone moving through the offices, and then nothing. After hours of waiting, she crept to the stairs and found light shining up from the Atrium. Not firelight, which would have caused shadows to dance and jump along the walls, but wand light.

After a few hours spent wavering between the decision to leave the Ministry while she could and the option of approaching the armed wizard or witch, she finally reasoned that first she had to find out who was downstairs. If it was an ally, then she didn't have to run away, and if it was an enemy, she may have the chance to get the better of them and steal their wand. After all, she had the element of surprise on her side–they didn't know she was there.

Stepping as lightly as was possible in the very dim light, finding herself thankful that she'd cleaned most of the debris off of the stairs in her boredom in the weeks since Neville's death because it left less to trip over now, she almost made it to the Atrium before she felt a strange tingling feeling on her ankle. She froze, and in the same instant, everything went completely dark. She wanted to scream in frustration; she'd activated a ward, she just knew it. But she didn't have time for berating herself for her lack of planning just at the moment; whoever was in the Atrium probably not only knew she was there, but exactly where she was, and her only option left was to try to get out of this alive.

She turned to dash up the stairs, but before she'd gone a single step, she was grabbed by the hair, and suddenly she was falling backwards. She swung out with the chair leg she still held, but couldn't hit the person behind her without being able to turn around, so she dropped her weapon and reached back, clawing with her nails at the hand wrapped in her hair. There was a hiss of pain, and then a wand was being pressed against the base of her neck, and the world seemed to stand still.

"Stop struggling or I'll kill you," her attacker barked harshly into her ear, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest. She knew that voice.

"Professor Snape?!"

Instantly she was released, but spun around and pushed backwards in one fluid motion, so that she landed painfully on the stairs. "Lumos," Snape said, and once more the room was flooded with light. Hermione winced and blinked a few times, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness that had been impossible to achieve with just firelight all these weeks, but she refused to look away from the man in front of her.

She wanted to laugh, to grab him and hug him, to hold on to him and never let go as long as it meant that she wouldn't be left alone again. But then all of those thoughts were pushed aside by overwhelming anger, and so instead she said, "You left us to die!"

Snape stared at her with an incredulous expression on his face for a moment, which then turned into a look of rage. "What the hell are you doing in London, Granger?"

"Neville was hurt, I came here to find help!"

"And you couldn't possibly have found help somewhere that wasn't in the middle of a bloody war zone?!"

"Well I didn't know it was a war zone, did I? And we were starving, I didn't have my wand, and Neville–"

"Snape interrupted, "Yes, where is Mr Longbottom? I would think even he wouldn't leave an unarmed woman to–"

"He's dead," Hermione said angrily.

"Well why did you bring him here?" Snape shouted back at her. "I got you off the fucking continent! Why did you bring him–"

"What?" Hermione whispered, her eyes going wide, and Snape paused, his face still contorted with rage. "I didn't know where you'd sent us.... I thought we were still in Scotland somewhere." She hesitated for a moment, feeling ashamed and lost and guilty and hurt, but then another thought brought her anger back, and she jumped to her feet, advancing on Snape and ignoring the wand still pointed at her chest. "You never came! You told me to wait for you, and then you never showed up! We were starving, and Neville was dying, and you never so much as sent an owl!"

"I couldn't get out," he said, his voice sounding calmer this time, but she could see the anger burning in his eyes. "I came to London after the battle at Hogwarts, and by the time the world started trying to end around us, I couldn't get out. Apparition wards. Not the Dark Lord's, either. Have you not tried to Apparate recently?"

"Someone is helping the Muggles? Why would a wizard be helping them?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Granger," he said with a defeated shrug, and it looked like all of the will to fight melted from him in an instant. "How long have you been here?"

"A little over a month, I guess. We got to London and were taken in by some people who thought we were Muggles, but they found out what we were, and... well, eventually we ended up here."

Snape looked around and finally lowered his wand. "What did you do with the bodies? There were dozens the last time I was here. Tell me you didn't eat–"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "Though, all things considered, we probably should have. But no, we pushed them through the Veil." After a moment of silence, she added quietly, "Neville, too. There wasn't anywhere to bury him."

Now that she wasn't afraid for her life any more than was usual, Hermione took a moment to look around. Snape had set up what appeared to be a small mattress on one side of the room. The fire was out, but the air was warm, and something that appeared to be real food was sitting in a bowl on the floor. She must have stared at the food for a bit longer than she meant to, because Snape asked her when she'd last eaten.

"The day before yesterday," she said, dragging her eyes away from the bowl. "But it was just... well. There aren't many options for food down here," she finished embarrassedly.

Snape looked away and motioned towards the bowl. "Eat that."

Normally she would have protested–it was his breakfast, after all–but she wasn't feeling a whole lot of compassion for him at just that moment, and she thought she might pass out from the pure ecstasy of just the smell of real food. Without a moment's hesitation, she darted across the room and sat down on the mattress, sipping at what she found to be bean soup. She was fairly certain it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

While Hermione ate, Snape paced back and forth, inspecting the deep scratches she'd carved into his hand with her nails, and told her about what he'd seen since the battle at Hogwarts.

"The Dark Lord–"

"I wish you wouldn't call him that," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Voldemort, then," Snape went on, and Hermione felt a shiver go up her spine. "He had planned to gain control of the whole of the United Kingdom. But he underestimated the Muggles. They all did."

"You didn't try to stop them? I mean, you had to have known that the Muggles wouldn't just stand back and be forced into slavery or murdered, magical enemy or not."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You don't tell Voldemort that he's being an imbecile, Granger. Not unless you're suicidal."

"Your silence cost us the country. Cost everyone the country."

"My silence kept me alive."

Hermione glared at him. "That's the most selfish thing I've ever–"

"Honestly, Granger, do you think my death would have helped anything? I had to be alive if I was to be of any use in defeating him."

Hermione just looked away, feeling sick to her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was because of the conversation, or the large bowl of soup she'd consumed in less than two minutes, of the dull ache that was spreading through her head from Snape pulling her down the stairs by her hair.

Snape seemed to take her lack of response to mean that she didn't have any further comments to make, and continued, "Everything just went wrong. The Muggles were attacking the wizards, the wizards were too busy fighting amongst themselves to stay out of sight, the damage to St. Mungo's was so extreme that the wards fell and everyone was exposed. The Muggles brought in reinforcements, and they didn't seem to care which side the wizards were on; they wanted us all dead. We might have still come out on top, though, if the wards hadn't gone up. We were trapped, then. No one in, no one out. There are checkpoints, patrols... and there aren't enough wizards left in any one place to try to take them all on, not when we can't even see half of them. They're hiding everywhere, and they're not exactly trying to take prisoners."

Hermione's head, now throbbing, reeled from the information. She couldn't believe everything had fallen apart so quickly. Just thinking about it made her feel exhausted, and staying up all night finally caught up with her.

"For Merlin's sake, Granger, you look like hell," Snape said, frowning. "Please, spare me any dramatic fainting."

"I'm just tired.... Didn't sleep last night."

"So sleep." At her suspicious look, he shook his head and walked away. "Or don't. But you're of no use to me if you can barely function."

"Snape!" she called after him, and he turned around. "Don't leave. Just... be here when I wake up, okay?"

He snorted. "Where else would I go?"

She shrugged and offered him a weak smile, trying not to think about how often she'd dreamed about him finding her, saving her. Now he was here, and maybe that meant that she'd make it through this alive after all. Settling down on his mattress, she started to drift off, but forced her eyes open one more time, taking in the sight of him leaning against the wall opposite her, as if he were standing guard.

"So now what?" she asked sleepily. "What do we do now?"

Snape sighed. "We wait."

~*~

The next few days seemed to pass by in a whirlwind of reminders of all the things Hermione had learned to live without. Snape had enough food with him, all in cans and shrunk down to fit inside a rucksack, to feed them for months. All of it seemed heavenly compared to the meals Hermione had been having lately. He'd mended and cleaned the clothes she wore, and conjured her a bath, and transfigured her pile of dirty blankets into a fairly comfortable mattress and a warm quilt like his own, all with the magic that she yearned to be able to use again.

At Hermione's insistence, both of their small beds were moved into Arthur Weasley's old office. She couldn't sleep in the Atrium, surrounded by so much open space, even with Snape's assurances that the wards he'd set would alert them long before anyone got that far into the Ministry, and she refused to let Snape out of sight when she could help it. As much as she wanted to trust him, she couldn't help but worry that he'd disappear one day, and she couldn't bear the thought of being alone again, defenceless and starving and terrified. Snape, to his credit, only made a handful of comments about how his life would have been easier if he'd remained on his own. Hermione thought maybe he'd been lonely, too. It was one thing to live a fairly solitary lifestyle in the midst of a world where you had a place, where you fit. It was entirely different to know that everyone you'd cared about was probably dead, to know that the world you'd found a place in was gone.

She gave him a detailed account of her life since she'd last seen him, and he shared more with her, too. He'd seen so many die after she'd lost consciousness back at Hogwarts, and he told her every one he could remember. She did her best not to cry, but failed. He'd seen Harry, Ginny, and Luna fall, and Minerva McGonagall, and what seemed like almost all of the students. Death Eaters had taken most of the bodies away. Ron had disappeared, and no one knew if he'd escaped or not. There hadn't been any sign of him since that day. Professor Flitwick had gotten away and was part of a small contingent of wizards and witches currently trying to hold Hogwarts against a group of remaining Death Eaters–it was one of the few places that whoever was helping the Muggles hadn't been able to disenchant. Everywhere people were running out of food, and the remaining Muggles no longer had electricity, clean water, or any way to fuel their cars.

The war hadn't spread, though. What information Snape had gotten before the borders had been closed seemed to indicate that while the entire world was now searching for evidence of a wizarding world in their own countries, none had been found. While the Muggles had still been trying to figure out what had hit them, wizarding populations worldwide had known in an instant and gone so far underground that no one would ever find them even if they knew where to look.

That didn't mean that the rest of the world was unaffected– there had been reports of witch hunts, of innocent Muggles being executed all over the world on accusations of wizardry. Voldemort's folly had thrown the world back to the mentality of the seventeenth century, it seemed.

The worst part, he told her, was the checkpoints. They were on an island; you couldn't just leave. Apparition wards not only enclosed London, but the entire coastline. There were checkpoints, places you could go to be airlifted out–if you were a Muggle. Most of the wizards didn't have a Muggle identity, and that proved to be a problem; a wizard could transfigure something into passable identification, but you couldn't fake the computer databases, and there were so many armed Muggles around that no one dared to try to use spells to get through. Snape had heard of more than a few accounts of wizards or witches entering the "safe zones" only to be executed within a day or so. And as if that weren't bad enough, London and many other large cities were surrounded by Muggle troops. Anyone trying to leave was usually caught, and while one Muggle was hardly a match for someone with a wand, dozens hidden out of sight were another story.

Of course, quite a bit of this was just rumors and gossip. No one ever left the safe zones on foot, only by plane or through death, and no one that left the country ever came back.

~*~

If Snape thought it odd that Hermione never left his side, and insisted on sleeping within a few feet of him, and became visibly distressed if he mentioned leaving the Ministry for any reason, he didn't mention it. What he did mention, however, was her nightmares.

"Granger!" she heard shouted at her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she instantly became awake and alert.

"What?! What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up and starting to climb to her feet. She paused when she saw that Snape was still lying down, leaning up on one elbow, glaring at her.

"What's wrong is that I can't sleep with all of your tossing and turning and whimpering over there. Shut up," he ordered nastily, dropping back onto his pillow and pulling the blanket over his head.

"Sorry," she grumbled, blushing. She had known that she was having nightmares every time she managed to doze off, but she hadn't realised that it had been keeping Snape awake. She leaned back against the wall, forcing her eyes to stay open.

After a moment, Snape heaved an exaggerated sigh and pushed his blanket away from his face, saying in an exasperated tone, "You can't be serious?"

"What?"

"I can't sleep if you're going to sit there staring at me, either."

She shrugged. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, just stop," he complained. Hermione slid down onto her mattress again, her eyes focused on the wall beside her, and did her best to stay awake at least for a little while, but before she knew it Snape was leaning over her, shaking her.

"You're doing it again," he told her when she opened her eyes and glared at him.

"I can't control my dreams, Snape," she snapped back, swatting his hand away from her arm. "Every time I close my eyes I see myself getting attacked in my sleep."

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then said, "I have some potions ingredients; not many, but I think I'd have enough of the right things to make you something to stop the nightmares."

"And have me be drugged and useless if we're attacked? Not a chance," Hermione answered, getting to her feet. "I'll just go do sit outside for a while. You sleep. When you wake up, I'll try to rest and you can go somewhere else so I don't bother you." And she pushed past him and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Once outside, though, she grew fearful. She was unarmed, and from where she stood, anyone coming down the stairs would see her. What if Snape's wards didn't wake him up? What if someone managed to take down the wards without him noticing?

Hugging her arms across her chest, she couldn't stop herself from crying silently as she backed herself into a shadowed corner, her eyes never leaving the doorway to the stairwell, only partially hidden by a door that hung lopsided from just one remaining hinge. She wasn't sure she could handle going to another floor, not without Snape and, more importantly, his wand. It occurred to her that just days ago she'd moved through the Ministry alone day in and day out, afraid but managing to control her fear, but she couldn't bring herself to move now.

After a few minutes that had seemed to last an eternity, the door to the office suddenly flew open. Snape stood in the doorway looking annoyed, and Hermione opened her mouth to make a comment, but he cut her off with a sharp glare.

"Get in here, Granger," he growled, and feeling too relieved to argue, Hermione hurried back into the room, wiping tears from her face with shaking hand. "Lie down," he said, pointing at her small bed. She complied, and when he continued to stare at her angrily, she rolled over to face the wall. A moment later, without warning, she felt him sink down onto the tiny mattress beside her, his arm wrapping around her.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, beginning to scramble away, but his arm held her in place.

"Protecting you. Now go to sleep," he said, loosening his grip when she stopped struggling, and he moved his arm so that his hand rested on her hip, wand pointing toward the door.

Hermione wanted to be angry, to tell him to go away, to feel as uncomfortable as she thought she ought to feel about this entire thing, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but safe. For the first time in a very long time she felt safe, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Shifting so that she could lean back against Snape's chest, she fell asleep to the feeling of his warm breath on the top of her head and the steady drum of his heartbeat against her back.

When they woke some hours later, Snape lying on his back with one arm holding Hermione against him, and her using his chest as a pillow, neither of them spoke of it. They just got up and went about what was fast becoming their daily routine–eat, argue, stare off into space, argue some more, talk about the war and speculate on what may be happening outside, and argue yet again. And when night came again and Hermione automatically slid all the way to the edge of her mattress to make room for Snape beside her, he lay down without comment, as if it were the most normal and natural thing in the world. Perhaps, considering how chaotic and unreal life had seemed lately for both of them, it was.