Meetings in the Mist

Hermione Granger paused just beyond the gates of Hogwarts. She was nearly 20 minutes late, but she couldn't quite go on. She needed to compose herself before facing what she knew would be an angry Snape in a few moments; she guessed that he wouldn't take too well to waiting for her. She sighed deeply and lifted Crookshanks in his box as she made her way to the gate. Even though she knew he was there, Snape still caught her off guard; his lank, greasy appearance was even more sickly than she imagined. But his eyes burned even more intensely than she remembered.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she offered, as whole-heartedly as she could. He nodded and opened the gate for her, not offering to help her with a struggling Crookshanks, or with her bags. This annoyed her, but she still apologised for her tardiness, and when he didn't even respond she decided that she had had enough of his bad manners.

"You know it is considered courteous to accept an apology when it is offered!" Snape seemed also deaf to this comment; now determined to get his attention, she said something she would soon regret.

"I suppose what did I expect from a Death Eater?"

Snape quickly rounded on her. He caught her off guard, and she stumbled backwards, falling over Crookshanks and ending up sat in the mud.

"What did you say, girl? Manners, was it? Well I find it incredibly impertinent when someone uses a person's history against them, Miss Granger!" His black eyes seemed to grow strangely red as he spoke. He loomed over her, a black shadow marked against a brilliant white sky. She was scared of what he might do next, but the malice appeared to have left him as quickly as it had crept in, and he extended a hand to pull her up, which she reluctantly accepted.

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Dumbledore sat at his desk in his office, watching a moth tottering around on his window sill. He was waiting for Snape and Hermione – they should be there by now – but he was a patient man. Almost half an hour after she was supposed to have arrived, the two came knocking at his door.

-

"Greetings, Miss Granger, and how was your journey?" Dumbledore came forward to shake hands.

"Fine, thank you, Headmaster, and please, call me Hermione."

"Of course, Hermione. Now, I've put you up in a nice room in the North Wing overlooking the grounds; I hope that will be satisfactory. I'm sure you'll want to be getting settled, so I'll have a house- elf take you up."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"Albus, please; you're not a student anymore, Hermione."

She nodded and left the room, and Dumbledore returned to his desk. Absently, he said, "Severus, I take it there is a reason you remain in my office?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

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Snape had been struggling to find the words to explain his concerns about the following weeks when the Mark on his arm began to burn. Dumbledore had realised almost the same time as he and did not seem at all surprised to see him turn and walk out without any explanation at all.

Now, standing in the middle of a foggy field somewhere in Kent, he wished he had taken a little longer to say goodbye in the warmth. Never mind that now though; he needed his wits about him. No one should try to speak with the Dark Lord on half-baked nerves; this he had learnt early on in his Death Eater career.

He made his way across the damp landscape towards a supposed abandoned house set deep within the lush green. Not that he could see the luscious green of the place in which he was treading. The sun was beginning to set, and a brilliant red sky was reflected in the fog about his feet, giving the scene an eerie glow and making everything seem a washed out brown.

Much as he tried, Snape could not gather his thoughts as tightly as he would have liked. Every time he thought he was safe, Hermione Granger popped back into his head. This began to worry him. He had about three minutes before someone would know he was approaching; he had to clear her from his head. In his worry, he didn't pause to analyse the thoughts as they passed by. If he had, he would have been confused further by their nature. Probably best that he did not have the time now.

In his rambling, Snape did not realise that he had been walking away from the house and away from Voldemort. He found himself quite lost wading through the fog that had now risen up to his waist. "Shit," he said aloud. Quite loud actually, because an answer came drifting to him through the fog.

"Is there someone there?" A pause. "Hello?"

Snape knew better than to go trekking across the British countryside chasing voices in the mist, so he ignored the voice and turned back the other way. He was considering Apparating back to his original location when the voice came again.

"Please. Help me."

He knew he should go and see what was up, but everything in him screamed that he shouldn't. It wasn't exactly wise to ignore The Dark Lord when he called you, or to go off chasing annonoymous voices in the mist. Then again, he was now quite late and this would give him the excuse he needed – a security threat he had to investigate. So, on that thought he turned again and made his way towards the voice in the mist.

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Hermione sat on the bed in her room. Dumbledore was right; this was a nice room. There was a fireplace, a large window with a window seat, and an en suite bathroom. Not to mention the king size four-poster which dominated the room. All the wood was dark, as it had been in her dorm when she had been a student here. Crookshanks lolled lazily on the pillows, and she sat and daydreamed of the old days she had spent in this castle.

She was completely immersed in her reminiscing when from out of the fireplace bounded a house-elf. It was sporting a Hogwarts tunic and introduced itself as Millie. Hermione had sprung from the bed and was now standing on the window seat, quite beside herself. The young elf, crying desperately, began grovelling and apologising for the incident, saying that she had only come to tell Miss Granger that it was time for dinner.

"Now, now, Dearie," said Hermione, "it wasn't your fault. I just didn't know they had hooked Hogwarts up to the Floo network."

"They haven't," exclaimed the elf. "It's an internal network for us house-elves." She puffed out her chest here, obviously quite proud to be a Hogwarts house-elf. "And for the sending of internal letters, Miss." She beamed at Hermione, who wondered how this elf had gotten such a good grip on the English language; normally elves were almost illiterate and lacking in verbal skills too.

She assured Millie that she would leave for dinner momentarily, but now she needed to find something to wear. Her first dinner in Hogwarts, should she dress up? Should she wear Muggle attire or wizard robes? The questions flowed in her mind, swirling and buzzing.

"Do not panic. Do not panic," she kept telling herself. Why was Hogwarts having this effect on her? She never used to be like this. Even recently, when she had been dressing for dates or smart dinners, she hadn't been that bothered about what she wore. But now . . .

She entered the Great Hall in black Muggle trousers and a black shirt, which she had transfigured from a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. All this effort only to see Dumbledore sat seated in the in the centre of the staff table, between Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch.Was this all her audience?

"Ah, I see Professor Snape has arrived," exclaimed Madam Hooch as she walked the length of the room. Upon hearing this, Hermione spun round to see if he was following her. No Snape? She turned back again when she heard Dumbledore chuckling behind her.

"No, my dear, she was referring to you! Black is a bit serious, don't you think?"

Hermione flushed and responded by tapping her wand on her shoulder and turning the clothes back to their original state. Redder than a beetroot, she sat down next to Flitwick and was greeted by a full English roast dinner, sprouts and all.

"Is it just the four of us tonight then?" she asked, only to be answered by Dumbledore recalling an alphabetised list of the locations and reasons for being there of all the faculty, past and present. By the time he was done, everyone had finished eating, including puddings.

"And that only leaves Severus," he concluded. Hermione could sense herself reddening again.

"Where would he be, Headmaster?" she choked out and was met by a stern look from Flitwick.

"Don't ask," he whispered.

"Severus Snape is out there defending our freedom, Hermione. And possibly fighting for his life. Who knows? I applaud the man." The headmaster continued in this fashion for some time, saying that since she was a silent member of the Order of the Phoenix, it was okay to tell her this. But he advised her not to ask him about it directly, and that she must not, on any grounds, talk about it with anyone else either unless they were an active member of the Order. Dumbledore then smiled and said that they might as well all leave now, since they had eaten.

"Miss Granger, I have arranged for you, Minerva, Severus, and I to meet tomorrow at nine to discuss our plans. The password to my office is Liquorice Wand. See you tomorrow."

Hermione left the dining hall feeling flat and a little disgruntled. Not only had she made an effort for no reason, but she had been called upon it, and Dumbledore kept dismissing her so bluntly!

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Jasmie Aldovir lay in a ditch somewhere in England. She knew she hadn't left the country, but she hadn't a clue where she was. The last town she had passed by, she was met with hostility and violence like she had never seen. She had had to resort to using her magic, which was very rusty and did her more damage than help. One harmless jinx she had cast had back fired and left her burnt and wet in this ditch. She could hear water running nearby, just the gentle trickle of a stream, and she thought she had heard a car go by some hours ago. In far too much pain to move, and not wanting to risk any more magic, she had just lain there watching the fog roll in and the sky turn blood red and then to an inky blue.

When the last of her hope was ebbing away from her, she heard a voice. She wasn't sure what it had said, but it was definitely a human voice. So, she had taken a risk and called out for help. At first it seemed as though she was either ignored or actually not heard, but now footsteps were approaching her. Not at all slowly or cautiously, a man came striding out of the mist; he had a wand drawn by the looks of it.

No, it couldn't be . . .

"Severus?"

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* Just a brief note ~ this chapter exists as a way to basically tie everything up for the real narrative to begin. Please bear with me, it will get better.