Of Owls and Expeditions

Three: Of Owls and Expeditions

"All right, Crookshanks," Hermione said, trying to ignore the baleful, yellow-eyed glare the cat gave her, "this really isn't going to hurt."

He swished his tail, the hair along his back standing up slightly.

Did a Transfiguration hurt? She couldn't imagine that it did, or else Professor McGonagall wouldn't have had her students blithely turning mice into snuffboxes and whatnot. Still, that realization wasn't enough to make Hermione feel any better about what she planned to do.

No help for it, though. She raised her wand toward Crookshanks, who let out a startled hiss just before his yellow eyes turned orange and his ginger fur transformed into the mottled brown and tan of a large eagle owl. Although not native to England, the species seemed to be preferred by the Owlery at Gringotts, no doubt because of its size and strength. After all, a smaller owl like Pigwidgeon or even beautiful, lost Hedwig would have had difficulty carrying heavy bags of Galleons to Ministry pensioners.

Crookshanks swiveled his head at her, flapping wings that seemed to take up most of Hermione's small front yard. She stepped backward, trying to avoid getting caught up in the downdraft.

"Listen, you silly cat – I mean, owl – well, anyhow," she continued, not wanting to look her Transfigured pet in the eyes, "it's not permanent. I just need you to fly over to Ottery St. Catchpole and come back. Ten minutes." At least this time, she added mentally. If her plan worked, Crookshanks would have to fly much farther than that.

Her words seemed to calm the owl/cat somewhat; Crookshanks ruffled his feathers, but then settled down, allowing Hermione to approach him. She fastened a leather collar with a gleaming dark stone that hung from its center front to his neck, then said, "Just to the village and back. Do a good flyover, and come straight home."

He let out a tentative "ooh-hu" and spread his wings, giving them a few experimental flaps. After that he launched himself up into the dusky sky of a late midwinter afternoon, heading west. Hermione watched him go, oblivious to the cold that had begun to seep up through the soles of her boots from the muddy slush in the front yard.

If Crookshanks had been an ordinary cat, she probably would never have attempted such a thing. But because he was half-Kneazle and uncommonly intelligent (and part magical to boot), she hoped he would keep his wits enough in altered form to follow the simple directions she had given him. At least she could test the Seeing Charm she had cast on the stone that hung from Crookshanks' neck and the stone's mate, which rested in her left hand.

Hermione opened her hand to stare down at the black stone that lay in her palm. Its surface flickered with strange light, and she focused on it more closely, seeing the bare, wintry landscape flash by beneath the owl's great wings. The images were small but very clear, like something seen through the wrong end of a telescope: a curving ribbon of road, half-melted snow drifts from an unseasonable early storm plowed up against fence posts, then finally the pitched roofs of houses and shops and the tall steeple of Ottery St. Catchpole's church. Perfect.

When she had first begun to think how best to determine where Professor Snape's pension payments were being sent, she'd had the brief notion of Transfiguring herself before she realized that would never work. She was no Animagus; she would not have been able to keep her human intelligence in such an altered form. To her knowledge, no Animagus on record had an owl as his or her alternate state. Perhaps that was part of the reason why owls had been chosen as a means of message delivery – the system couldn't be compromised by a witch or wizard pretending to be something she or he was not. But Crookshanks, who was not human, but more than a simple cat ... well, that was an entirely different matter. Although the Transfiguration seemed to have gone well, Hermione still couldn't be certain of her success until her pet returned to Rosedell.

The Seeing Stones were just a variation on the same Charm that enchanted two-way mirrors. It had only taken an evening's worth of study and preparation to get them to work. As she had set about her task, something Professor Snape once said in a lecture returned to her.

"It is not enough to be merely competent, or even talented," he'd remarked. For a second Hermione could have sworn those cold black eyes rested on her, but immediately his gaze had shifted to Harry and Ron, and he frowned. "The truly gifted wizard finds ways to improve on what has come before, to innovate, to advance. Not," he drawled, continuing to fix a malevolent black stare on Harry, "that I expect any such breakthroughs from this particular batch of dunderheads."

Well, she was innovating now. Whether Professor Snape would be glad to hear of her novel ways of using old enchantments was an entirely different story ....

Crookshanks returned, wings blowing drafts of cold air into Hermione's upturned face. He settled on the ground in front of her and tucked his wings back against his body, then looked at her with an expectant air.

"Well done, Crookshanks," Hermione said. "You've earned a tin of tuna for supper."

The orange eyes narrowed slightly, and she hastened to add, "And some kippers as well." Then she stepped forward, removed the collar from his neck and stuffed it in her coat pocket, and pulled out her wand. Within a few seconds, Crookshanks was himself again.

At once he let out an annoyed meow and stalked over to the front door, where he sat on the mat with an impatient air. Clearly, he wanted to be inside and given his supper as soon as possible.

Well, he had earned it. She opened the front door, letting out a wave of warm air, then followed the cat inside. Let him enjoy his dinner. She had plenty of time to let him know that his next journey would most likely be much, much longer, and that the tricky part was yet to come.

***

Luckily for Hermione, December the twenty-first fell on a Sunday, so she had no reason to come up with an excuse for not being at work. She did tell Ginny that she planned to go shopping with her mother, and she told her mother she was running errands with Ginny. Since Hermione's mother had no easy way of contacting Ginny (or vice-versa), Hermione figured her absence wouldn't be noted.

A combination of a Hover charm and an Invisibility Charm got her and a Transfigured Crookshanks safely into Gringotts' Owlery; apparently the goblins, while obsessed with security in the vaults below, hadn't done much to safeguard their owls' home base. Perhaps the Gringotts staff weren't overly concerned with the fate of the money once it had been signed out of their care.

Several of the Gringotts owls hooted and moved restlessly as Hermione passed them by, but none of them seemed inclined to do more than that. She had already prepped Crookshanks, telling him that she would signal as soon as she saw the disbursement for Severus Snape being readied. All she could do was hope that the goblins had a fairly simple procedure and that each delivery would be handed off to the nearest owl, as had been the practice at Hogwarts with the school's owls when students there hadn't had owls of their own.

Bill had told her that the pension payments usually were sent out between four and five in the winter months, to take advantage of the eagle owls' predilection for twilight and nighttime flying. If the journey was fairly short, it might only take one night, but somehow Hermione doubted that Professor Snape – if he were even still alive – would have concealed himself anywhere near London and its environs. No, the possibility existed that Crookshanks' trip might take several days. She knew her spell would hold, but would her poor cat retain enough of himself over such an extended period to return to her safely? Ever since his first flight she had tested him with longer and longer periods in which he wore the owl form – much to his dismay – and she thought he would be all right, but one could never be certain.

As she waited in the shadows of the Owlery, trying not to breathe too deeply of the dropping-scented air, Hermione wondered if she had gone slightly mad. After all, what sane person would put her beloved pet through such torments just to find a man who had always rather despised her?

That doesn't matter, she told herself. This isn't about you. It's about someone who sacrificed practically his whole life for the wizarding world, only to be shuffled off into oblivion. That isn't right, no matter how he behaved toward his students.

The thought encouraged her a little, and she settled back in the corner, hoping she did not have long to wait. Almost as if in answer to her wishes, the door opened, and a stooped, elderly-looking goblin entered. He clutched a piece of parchment that Hermione immediately recognized as the one she herself had sent over to Gringotts only a few days earlier. Behind him trundled a self-propelled little cart heaped with sacks and bags and satchels of various sizes.

Surely her heart was beating so loudly the goblin could hear it. Holding her breath, Hermione watched as the goblin began reading down the list of names. Since she had prepared the document, she knew how approximately long they had before the goblin reached Severus Snape's name.

"Malva Smythe," read the goblin, and Hermione tensed. An owl hopped forward to take the parcel the goblin held out. As the owl clutched the small sack, the goblin added, "Stoke Aldermoor," and the bird flew away through the large opening marked "NW" – for the compass point, Hermione presumed.

She looked over at Crookshanks, and made a flicking movement with the index finger of her right hand. An unseen current coursed through the chilly air and hit the Transfigured cat square in the chest. He immediately moved toward the goblin. The stone around his neck was mostly hidden by the long mottled tan and black feathers on his chest, but Hermione still held her breath, wondering if the goblin on duty would notice that the eagle owl which approached wore a most uncommon accessory.

"Severus Snape," the goblin said, sounding bored, and handed over a largish satchel without even bothering to look up. "Dunhollow, Yorkshire." Crookshanks took the bag in his oversized claws, spread his wings, and took off through the north window of the Owlery, moving with purpose, as if he knew exactly where to go. Hermione had never been able to discover exactly how it was that owls always knew where to find their assigned destination, but whatever instinct or magical inducement led them unerringly to their objective seemed to be working for Crookshanks as well.

Time to go. Now that the cat was safely away with his burden, she could watch his progress from her own home. Still invisible, she drifted to the edge of the balcony, cast another Hover charm under her breath, and put a safe distance between herself and the Owlery before the goblin in attendance realized that someone besides a parliament of owls had occupied the tower atop Gringotts.

Hermione had planned to Disapparate into her living room, where a small fire waited for her in the hearth. Now, however, since she had been lucky enough to hear the name of Professor Snape's current residence – or at least what the Ministry believed to be his current residence – she thought it wise to try a little investigation before returning home. If she could somehow discover where in Yorkshire Dunhollow lay, perhaps she could intercept poor Crookshanks before he had to complete his long journey.

But a detour into Flourish & Blotts and a quick perusal of the Wizarding World Gazetteer revealed nothing, nor did a hurried scan of Wizard Haunts: England's Most Magical Places. Perhaps Dunhollow was a Muggle community, although Hermione couldn't imagine Severus Snape lasting long in such prosaic surroundings. Still, the notion was worth investigating, so she stopped in the closest library branch she could find, surrendered her driver's license and library card (which she'd acquired during her university days), and spent several minutes on a borrowed computer terminal searching every possible spelling of "Dunhollow," a search which turned up nothing. Refusing to give in to frustration, she'd gone to the geography section of the stacks and resumed her inquiry there, but again she found no trace of any name resembling the one the goblin had given Crookshanks. It seemed she would have to trust in whatever homing instinct led the wizarding world's owls to their given destinations.

Dunhollow, Yorkshire. She was not overly familiar with the north of England, but somehow Yorkshire sounded like a fitting hiding place for the dour Potions master. Feeling faintly guilty, she Apparated into her living room and settled down on the couch, then pulled the stone out of her pocket to watch Crookshanks' progress.

He appeared to be moving quite rapidly, his large wings eating up the miles as he flew across great expanses of muddy fields that alternated with woods and winding roads. Dusk had almost given way to full dark. If it hadn't been for the recent snowfall, Hermione would have had some difficulty picking out any detail in what the Seeing Stone Crookshanks wore revealed. Even now the image grew dimmer and dimmer, relieved here and there by the twinkling lights of the towns he flew over and the headlamps of vehicles on the road.

No doubt he would fly most of the night. If she wished to keep watch over him as he made his journey, she'd need a little assistance. So Hermione got up off the couch, went into the kitchen, and made herself a pot of strong tea, adding to that some leftover chicken pie Molly had sent home with her a few days earlier.

The ticking of the clock over the mantel seemed almost hypnotic. Despite the tea, Hermione felt her eyelids begin to slip downward, and she started, forcing herself to pick up her mug of tea and take another bracing swallow. By this point she could see little in the stone except variations of darkness. Probably Crookshanks was now moving over open country, staying away from human habitation. Eagle owls had no real enemies, save human kind; it was better to avoid people as much as possible.

At some point the stone slid from her hand, and her eyes closed. As she fell into the darkness, she had the foggy realization that she hadn't thought of Ron in at least four or five hours ....

***

Half-hearted sunlight poked its way in past the curtains, causing Hermione's eyelids to flutter. She blinked, then sat up at once, realizing as she did so that she must have slept the night through on the couch. Her stiff neck complained at once of its ill treatment.

Ignoring the pain, she retrieved the Seeing Stone and stared down into it, worried that Crookshanks might have already reached his destination. However, the image that met her gaze was of a deep pine wood with no sign of human life anywhere. It appeared that the Transfigured cat had flown until dawn was near and had then stopped in the most likely spot. Probably he would rest there for a good number of hours, which meant Hermione had time for a hot bath and a proper meal before Crookshanks resumed his flight.

She spent the day in little commonplaces, tidying the house (which was already impeccably neat), wrapping the remainder of her Christmas presents, working in a desultory fashion on her latest house-elf education pamphlet. After all, it would never do to get too behind just because she had been reassigned to the Office of Financial Affairs for a few weeks.

All too often, however, she would look down into the stone, compelled to see if anything had changed, even though logically she knew nothing much could have happened in the five minutes since the last time she had checked on it. Finally, at around three, Crookshanks appeared to alight from the tree in which he had taken refuge and spread his wings once more. After refreshing himself with a freshly caught vole – at which point Hermione set down the Stone, feeling her tea and toast lurch in her stomach – the Transfigured cat resumed his journey.

He passed over more farmland and roads, then skirted the edge of a largish city Hermione didn't recognize. Here the snow on the ground hadn't quite melted, although the roads still looked clear. But the country slowly grew rougher, with hills rising from low valleys through which rivers and streams had cut their paths. Finally, just as dusk began to fall, Crookshanks banked to the left, descending into a narrow dale where snow gleamed pale in the shadows and a small ribbon of water wound past a two-story cottage with faded whitewash. Hermione spied a stone chimney, from which drifted a lazy stream of gray smoke.

Letting out another one of those odd "ooh-hu" calls, he glided onto the doorstep and shook out his feathers. Watching him in the Stone, Hermione held her breath. At any moment the door would open, and –

– and nothing. Even though Crookshanks hooted several more times, the cottage showed no sign of life.

Feeling a bit anti-climactic, Hermione bit her lip and continued to stare into the Seeing Stone. Someone had to be there, after all – smoke rose from the chimney, which meant the cottage was inhabited by someone. Although the place looked somewhat forlorn and terribly isolated, it didn't appear abandoned.

A flicker of movement at the periphery of the Stone caught her eye. Then, as she watched, her eyes straining against the deepening shadows in the scene within the enchanted Stone, a tall figure strode across the dead grass of what passed for the cottage's front yard. The man wore a bulky dark coat that effectively obscured his outline, but she would have known that fall of black hair, that hook-nosed profile, no matter what he wore. Severus Snape.

The fingers which held the Stone felt suddenly chilled. Perhaps it was because all the blood in Hermione's body had been drawn inward, to fuel the increased beating of her heart. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until she let out a little gasp. So the Ministry hadn't made a mistake after all. Whatever his reasons for hiding himself so thoroughly, Professor Snape was no more dead than Hermione herself was.

He approached the owl on his doorstep in a casual way, as if he had done so a hundred times before. Which Hermione supposed he had, if he'd been getting a pension payment every month for the past five years. Then he bent and took the satchel from Crookshanks. He fished in his pocket for something – Hermione couldn't tell what because the image in the Stone was so small – and offered it to the Transfigured cat, who appeared to swallow whatever treat Snape had given him. After that, Snape let himself in the front door and shut it firmly behind him.

Crookshanks flapped his wings and flew a short distance away to a twisted-looking yew tree about fifty yards from the cottage. Hermione had instructed him to stay put for awhile after delivering his package, as she had hoped she would be able to retrieve him and spare him the rigors of the return journey. So far her plan seemed to be working. The image in the Stone had been clear enough that she now had a firm idea of where she needed to Apparate. And the yew tree provided enough cover to hide her sudden appearance.

Then what? she thought. Do I just stride up and knock on his front door? What on earth do I say to him?

Truthfully, she had been so wrought up in planning for contingencies and trying to make sure that her scheme was workable that she hadn't even stopped to think what she would do if Crookshanks succeeded in finding the Potions master's hidden home. And now that the moment had arrived, part of her quailed at the coming confrontation. It had been an easy escape, a way to occupy her mind, to keep her from thinking about how particularly empty her house felt now that Christmas was almost upon her.

Well, she told herself, there's no reason you can't do a little reconnaissance first. You don't have to speak to him today, if you don't want to. But at the very least you need to get Crookshanks out of there. It looks like it's going to snow.

That thought led her to more practical matters. Hermione slid the Stone into the pocket of her jeans and went to retrieve her cloak from the hall closet. It had looked very cold in that hidden Yorkshire dale. After that she picked up her gloves from their resting place on her bedroom dresser and slid them on. She already wore sturdy boots; they would do well enough.

At least she didn't have to worry about summoning up a strong desire to reach her destination – no sooner had she fixed the image of the yew tree and the surrounding valley in her mind than she Apparated there, popping back into existence a yard or so away from the tree. Luckily, it stood between her and the cottage.

Cold air filled her lungs, and Hermione could see her breath stream out before her. Even in her warm wool cloak, she knew she couldn't stay out here for too long. She hadn't felt such a biting chill since she'd left Hogwarts six years ago.

"Crookshanks!" she hissed, and almost immediately she saw the ghostly shape of an owl launch itself from the upper branches of the yew tree and settle on the snow-covered ground next to her. He blinked his round, orange eyes at her and ruffled his feathers; clearly, he wished to be rid of his owl form.

The rational part of her mind told Hermione she should Transfigure the cat and get the hell out of there, but curiosity was stronger. "Just a minute more," she said in an undertone. Then she murmured the words of the Invisibility Charm and inched away through the increasing darkness, moving closer to Snape's cottage.

There really wasn't that much to see. On closer observation she noticed that a rough footpath wound its way past the house and disappeared northward along the bottom of the dale. The stream itself had not yet frozen over; she could hear it murmuring and chattering to itself as it flowed through its narrow banks. Besides the cottage, there was a dodgy-looking outbuilding a few yards to the rear of the house. Now it seemed empty, although she supposed if a Muggle were in residence it would have held a car or possibly a piece of farm equipment. That, however, seemed to be the extent of the homestead.

Truly, it was one of the loneliest places she had ever seen. Although Hermione valued her solitude, she couldn't imagine spending five years alone in such surroundings. Even her own cheery little cottage had begun to seem like a prison cell after Ron had died, the Burrow's proximity notwithstanding.

All the feelings she had fought to keep at bay seemed to rise up in her at that thought, and her eyes stung with sudden tears. Damn it, she thought, how long is it going to be like this? How long before I can feel like a human being again?

"Let it hurt for as long as you need to," Minerva McGonagall had told her. The question was, did Hermione still need the hurt? How long would it take before she truly believed she had grieved enough for Ron?

Perhaps one can never grieve enough, she reflected, watching the smoke rising from Snape's chimney and feeling the freezing earth beneath her feet send its chilly touch up through the soles of her boots. But perhaps I can give myself permission to let it go at last. Just because I don't cry myself to sleep every night doesn't mean I didn't love Ron. And surely if he loved me as much as I loved him, he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life in misery.

She looked upward then, watching as a dim little star broke clear of a cloud bank and twinkled bravely against the black sky. Somehow, seeing it heartened her. The stars would always be there, no matter what happened down here on earth.

Abruptly, the front door to the cottage banged open, and Hermione took a step backward. Severus Snape stood there, his outline very black against the glow of the candle- and firelight within. Although she could not make out his features, she could almost see his eyes narrowing as he stared out into the darkness.

Had he heard her Apparate onto his property? She wouldn't have thought so, seeing as she had been many yards away from the house proper when she had done so, but perhaps he had the place magically warded. If that were the case, it was definitely time to get out of here.

She turned to flee back toward the yew tree, but somehow found that her legs wouldn't obey her. To her horror, she looked down to see multiple thin cords wrapping themselves around her calves, then winding up her legs and binding her arms against her sides. She stumbled and fell against the snow-covered ground.

Almost immediately, Professor Snape was standing over her. Hermione heard him murmur the words to dispel her Invisibility Charm, and the tip of his wand glowed blue as he held it closer to her face. His black eyes glittered in its reflected light, and then she saw the thin lips lift ever so slightly.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said, "I'm curious to hear your excuse for this latest round of trespassing."