Chapter Nineteen

A/N: And so we leave HBP behind. Thanks for sticking with me! And thanks, always, to Shellsnapeluver, without whom there would be no story.

Hermione packed the last of her robes into her trunk, on top of the Horcrux books she had summoned from Dumbledore's office just after his funeral. She hadn't truly expected the charm to work. 'Accio Horcrux Books' had seemed a bit far-fetched, but they had come sailing through her open window, almost as if Dumbledore had planned it that way. Which, she supposed, he might have. She closed her trunk and took a final look around the room that had been hers since she had arrived, eager and terrified, at Hogwarts six years before. Lavender and Parvati were still flitting about the room, tossing items haphazardly into their trunks and arguing over who got to keep the hair pins adorned with moving purple butterflies over the summer. Hermione's third of the room was as empty as she had ever seen it. Gone were the stacks of books that she kept beside her bed. Gone, the quills and half-filled ink bottles that had littered her desk. Gone, the Muggle picture of her parents that she set on her nightstand each year at the beginning of term. She fingered the crimson hangings that surrounded her bed before drawing them closed. She longed to touch the mirror above her dresser, to caress each of the drawers that had held her clothes. She wanted to press her hand against the cool stone walls and say goodbye to each of these familiar things, never noticed, but always present.

Her trunk would be taken to the train by house-elves. There was nothing left to do but to say goodbye to the girls and meet Ron and Harry in the common room.

"Lavender, Parvati," she began. She choked slightly. These girls, they were not her friends, particularly, but they had been her companions. And there had been good times, hadn't there? Nights when she had put down her books and helped them charm tiny hearts into their nail polish; the night of the Yule Ball, when Parvati had taken a huge jar of Sleekeazy and her wand to Hermione's hair. There had been times, yes, when they had been almost like sisters, fighting over who made too much noise in her sleep, who had left her robes all over the floor.

"I hope you have a good summer," Hermione said, for she could not give them a proper goodbye. There must be no hint from her that she might never see them again.

Parvati turned and looked at her sharply. "Hermione, are you crying?"

"No--no, of course not."

Lavender came over and touched her gently on the arm. "Of course, you're crying," she said. "We're all terribly sad about the Headmaster."

Hermione nodded as if this were exactly the reason for her tears.

"But we'll have the summer to get used to it. I'll see you at Ron's before you know it. And then we'll be back here, just like we've always been. And I'll be getting my hair all over your robes, and Parvati will be telling us both that we snore, and Crooks will be into everything... just like it's always been. Enjoy the respite," she said.

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I imagine you'll both look forward to a couple of months without my homework planner screaming us all awake at six a.m."

"Don't you doubt it for a second," Parvati said, but she hugged Hermione briefly before returning to her own packing. "Take care."

"You, too. Both of you. Take good care," Hermione said and turned and walked from the room.

She felt chilled as she descended the stairs, though the castle was no cooler than usual.

Ron and Harry were waiting for her in the common room, and when she arrived, they climbed wordlessly through the portrait hole. All three of them turned and looked back at the Fat Lady as she swung back into place.

"Get along, dears, or you'll miss the train," she said. Her eyes were splotchy from crying. Hermione wondered if this were only for Dumbledore, or if she was always a bit sad when the students left.

Harry and Ron turned to make for the steps, but Hermione still stood, transfixed by the guardian of their house.

"You know, I never..." she began, "I never asked your name."

"Brunhilde," the Fat Lady said, sniffling.

"Goodbye, Brunhilde."

"Goodbye, Know-It-All."

Laughter burst out of Hermione's mouth before she could think to hold it in. Her voice rang through the hushed corridor, echoing off the stone walls.

"Turnabout is fair play, I suppose," she gasped at last, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Harry and Ron were looking at her with vague alarm. But this was a much better way to leave--this was the Hogwarts she knew, stuffed to the gills with students and their laughter. Suddenly, she thought of Fred and George and their glorious exit from the school the year before. Yes, laughing was the right way to go.

***

On the train, she and Ron sat in the Prefects' compartment, having no real urge to patrol the corridor, nor to visit with anyone. They had watched earlier as Harry had chosen an empty compartment at the very back of the train. It seemed obvious to her that they were, the three of them, closing down. The world would narrow down to their own familiar faces and their blind determination. No one else would be let in for the duration of their task.

She stared out the window of the train, watching the green countryside hurry by. Finally, she turned and spoke quietly.

"You're not telling your family, are you?"

"Not where we're going, no. But I'll have to tell them that I'm not coming back to school. You?"

"No, it'd be too dangerous, by far. I haven't quite decided what to do with my family yet. It seems like," she said, her voice beginning to tremble, "like they'd be--"

"Prime targets," Ron finished.

"Yes. And your family, too."

"Blood traitors, the lot of us. I know. I don't want to put them at any more risk. Not that they wouldn't understand it, but--"

"I know. I've been thinking a great deal about that ghoul in your attic," she said.

She pulled a bit of folded parchment from her pocket, and Ron made a show of rolling his eyes, but he bent his head next to hers, and they spent the next few hours outlining a plan involving, of all things, pajamas and spattergroit.

***

The station was subdued when she and Ron descended from the train. It was clogged with families, as usual, but there were no shrieks of welcome, no buzz of excitement. Mothers and fathers simply stepped forward, sweeping their children into worried embraces, gathered baggage, nodded quietly to other families, and left. Her parents stood solemnly beside the Weasleys. Her mother clutched a piece of parchment in her hand; Hermione assumed it was the letter they had received telling them to pick her up early from King's Cross.

"Are you all right?" Her mother whispered as she crushed Hermione to her.

There was no response but to cry, to allow herself for one last moment to be her mother's child. Her father patted her back nervously. Hermione broke away and turned to Ron.

"I'll be there soon," she said.

Ron nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand. She hugged Ginny fiercely, gave Mr and Mrs Weasley a watery smile and then followed her family to the baggage area, where they collected her trunk and proceeded to the car.

The car seemed stuffy and weighted with things unsaid. Her father finally broke the silence.

"So, this... this Dark wizard? He was responsible for the death of the Headmaster?"

Hermione considered. "Yes," she said finally.

"I thought you were supposed to be safe at Hogwarts!" her mother said. "I thought that Professor Dumbledore was supposed to be stronger than--"

"He was, Mum. He was just unlucky. No students were hurt. The Headmaster would never have allowed that to happen."

"But you won't be going back, surely. Not with you being... Muggle-born. Didn't you say that this maniac hates Muggle-borns?"

"No, I very likely won't be going back," Hermione said quietly. She hadn't yet worked out what she would tell her parents, but this seemed as good an excuse as any for the time being.

She thought she saw a look dart between her parents, and her mother seemed to twitch uncomfortably in her seat.

"How's Harry?" her father asked.

"He's all right. He... well, he's physically all right. This is a hard time for him."

"He's not planning to try to take on this wizard, is he? I know that... Voldemort... killed his parents, but he's not thinking of going after him alone?" Even her mother, a woman who knew so little about the wizarding world, seemed to have trouble saying Voldemort's name. But there was something else in her hesitancy. They had asked after Harry, but Hermione thought that they were actually asking about her plans. She felt, for a moment, very known, very cherished. Her parents knew her well enough, it seemed, to realize that she would not be able to stand by and let this happen to those she loved.

"I think that, when the times comes, Harry will want to do what he can to see that Voldemort is stopped," she replied.

"But what good can the child do?" Her mother protested. "If Voldemort is strong enough to overtake Professor Dumbledore, then--"

"Harry learned a lot from Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. She still had the sense that they were not talking about Harry, exactly.

"But that's just it--that's just learning! It's all very well to learn, Hermione. But surely, Harry is not prepared to fight such a wizard. He'll get himself killed! He has a Muggle family, doesn't he? Why doesn't he just leave magic for a while--not forever! Don't give me that look! But until this blows over..."

"It's not going to blow over, Mum. And I'm not leaving magic! Not now--not when--"

"There's someone at the house, Hermione," her father said tersely, and she got the feeling from his tone that this was why her parents were so adamant that she lay down her wand. "Someone to see you."

"Who?"

"A man--a wizard. Someone who says he knows you from school. He arrived just before we left. Pulled up in a little Citroen, just as normal as you please. It's funny--he doesn't look magic. But then, neither do you, I suppose."

Hermione's blood ran cold. She remembered Professor Snape's words at Christmas. I am sure you have realized that as a Muggle-born and a friend of Potter, the Dark Lord has taken a special interest in you. Who had he sent? And why hadn't he killed her family already, unless he was waiting to take all three of them out at once? Well, he would be sorry, if that's what he'd had in mind. She would give any Death Eater a fight to remember. And why had her parents left an unknown man alone in the house while they came to fetch her? Had he put them under the Imperius Curse? She struggled to look into her mother's eyes. She didn't look Imperiused, but... In her mind, she began to strategize. An Anti-Apparition Charm on the house would prevent him from escaping, but would trap her there, too. Protego Horribilis, of course, on herself and her parents. Would it work on Muggles? No reason why not that she could think of... She moved her wand from the pocket of her robes, which were balled up on the car seat next to her, to the waistband of her denims.

"What does he look like?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"An older gentleman, a bit on the portly side," her father replied. Slughorn? He always said he wouldn't choose sides, but he was the head of the Slytherin house...

"And did he say what he wanted?"

"All he would say was that it was imperative that he see you. He seemed to think you'd be home already."

"Hermione," her mother said, "I know you like to... well, to get involved. And that's good, honey. We've always been very proud of you. But you haven't joined Dumbledore's 'Order of the Phoenix,' have you? Because I really think--"

"Did the man say he was from the Order of the Phoenix?"

A tiny flame of hope sprung to life in her chest. Had the Order sent someone? Had Dumbledore made arrangements for her family after all?

"No, he wouldn't say anything but that he had to see you. We offered to take him to the station with us, but he refused. He seemed not to want anyone to know he was there--asked us not to mention it at King's Cross. Hermione, have you joined Dumbledore's group?"

"No, Mum. The Order won't admit anyone that's still in school."

"Well, thank heavens for small--" her mother began as they pulled up in front of the house.

"Dad, I thought you said he'd arrived in a Citroen." Hermione was scanning the street. There were no unfamiliar cars there. In fact, there were no cars there at all.

"That's odd," her father said. "Well, maybe he's left, and all this fuss was for nothing."

Hermione tried to tell herself that, in fact, the wizard who had so discomfited her parents had gone. But her unease grew as she looked from house to house. The street had an odd, abandoned feel to it. Usually, there would be someone mowing the grass or gathering up the post... someone coming home or a child playing in a yard.

"Come here," she said and motioned her parents around the side of the house, under the cover of the beech tree that shaded her bedroom window. Her parents followed her uneasily.

"Hermione--" her father began.

"Mum, Dad, listen. Maybe you're right and whoever was here is gone. But like you said earlier--Muggles are targets to Voldemort, and I don't want to go in that house until I know that you're protected. Will you trust me?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that could hurt you. I'm just going to cast a Shielding Charm on you."

Her mother and father exchanged another worried glance. Her father seemed about to speak, but her mother interrupted, saying, "All right."

Hermione took her wand out from under her shirt. "Protego Horribilis!" She considered and rejected the Anti-Apparition Charm. There was a tiny part of her, too ludicrous to be acknowledged, that hoped it was Snape in there waiting for her, and she didn't want to trap him in the house if that were the case. She crept quietly toward the door with her parents behind her, her wand stuffed up her sleeve, but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

She opened the door. "Hello?" she called. There was no reply.

She turned from the hallway into the sitting room. There, at the far end of the room, stood a short, stocky man with thick, blond hair. A man with a rounded nose and tanned, freckled skin. A man with hard, black eyes that caught and held her before she could speak.

"Hermione?" her mother said hesitantly from the doorway. Hermione held up a single hand, staying her parents, but she could not speak. Her eyes were locked with Snape's.

"Who was the fourth person at my birthday party?" she whispered.

"Alastor Moody," he replied. His voice was slightly higher pitched, but it had the same silken quality she knew. "What did I give you for Christmas?"

"The Encyclopedia of Toadstools," she said, her eyes never leaving his. They stood there for a moment, unmoving, and she began to survey him. The glamour would hide most of the damage if there was any, but the way he stood... he seemed unharmed.

"Are you all right?" she finally choked out, and he began, at last, to walk toward her.

***

He was paralyzed for a moment, unsure how she would receive him. But her eyes had sought his immediately, and he saw that she had kept her promise. Her right hand still rested on the butt of her wand where it poked out of her shirtsleeve, but she made no motion to retrieve it. When she spoke, he knew that he would not be forced to hex her. As he took a step toward her, he was filled with a gratitude more profound than any he had ever known, an almost dizzying relief, and yet, it was countered by an immediate wave of nausea. What had he done to her that she would still look at him with trust?

He was struck by the sight of her mother standing behind her, but already moving to step between them. Hermione was so like her mother that it was a bit unnerving. Snape felt as if he were somehow allowed to gaze upon the woman that she would become, and some unnamed emotion tugged at him until her mother spoke.

"Hermione, do you know this man?" she asked sharply. So like Hermione... and the question of why the girl had been sorted into Gryffindor was quickly resolved. Her mother, a mere Muggle, was advancing on him in a nearly predatory stance.

Hermione reached out and took her mother's arm. "It's all right, Mum. I know him. He's my professor." Her eyes glanced to his for permission, which he granted with a slight nod. "It's Professor Snape."

Her father entered the room then. He was a mousy man with a thick gray mustache. "But I thought Professor Snape was... well, you always described him as... I mean to say, why didn't you tell us you were Hermione's professor?"

"I am sorry to have intruded upon you without explaining myself fully. Events at the school being what they are, we are all compelled to positively identify each other before we are free to speak." He knew that her parents would assume that he had been bound to silence by a magical compulsion, and he encouraged the notion. In fact, he had not been at all sure that Hermione would not alert the Aurors if she knew he were present in her home. And he had needed time to place the Distraction Charms necessary to ensure their privacy along the street.

"Forgive me," Hermione said. "I don't know where my manners are. Mum, Dad, this is Severus Snape, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Professor Snape, my parents, Helen and Richard Granger."

"Mr and Mrs Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm sure you realize what an extraordinary daughter you have. She is among the brightest students I have ever had the pleasure of teaching. Thank you for allowing me into your home. I hate to impose upon you again so soon, but I need to speak to Hermione alone."

Her mother raised an eyebrow at this, but Hermione turned and said, "It's all right, Mum," and the woman took a step back. Hermione led him into a small parlor at the end of the house and shut the door, locking and warding it.

"Muffliato," Snape said. It was as if the charm released her. She flew at him like a banshee, her voice harsh and screechy.

"How could you not have told me? You can't imagine what I felt! It was days before I was completely sure and I--"

He seized her fists, which had been beating with remarkable strength against his chest.

"And then you come here! And you don't even look like you! Here, with my parents! Not a word from you all this time! I've been afraid to contact you--"

"Would you feel better if I removed the disguise?" he asked quietly. His voice was so low and smooth that it seemed to make her realize how crazed she sounded. For a moment, it looked as if she would pull herself together, but then she whipped her wand from her sleeve and pointed it at him, shouting, "Finite Incantatem!"

He stood there, still and silent before her, wearing Muggle clothes that were now spectacularly unsuited to him. His pale ankles were exposed below the hems of trousers that were five inches too short, and his waistcoat sagged around his middle.

"Oh, Professor," she said. "You're hurt. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm fine. It's been several days, and it wasn't the worst I've suffered by a long shot. And I don't know when you expected me to tell you. Should I have squeezed it in between blows?"

She looked slightly abashed and then furious once more. "Oh, no, you don't. You don't get off that easy. Why didn't you tell me? You can't imagine how sick, how confused, I felt when I heard. I thought--I mean--with everything we've--I just thought you might have had a bit more--"

"You know very well that the Headmaster did not wish for you to know--"

"Bollocks!" she yelled. "I know now! And I'm at much more risk of being captured than I was at Hogwarts, so don't give me that double blind bullshit! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I believed that if you knew, you would try to stop me." He looked at her steadily. It seemed the only way to weather this strange storm was to be as direct and calm as possible.

"I--," she sputtered. "I--well, I admit that at first I might have done. But just at first! Give me some credit--I believed in you, in Dumbledore! And don't you think I can see what this has done for Harry?"

"The very fact that I risked coming here at all should tell you how much credit I give you, Miss Granger. And not having laid eyes on Potter since he tried to hex me on the grounds, I have no idea what this has 'done for Harry,' as you say."

She glared at him. "Oh, come off it. If I had been Harry, I would have tried to hex you, too. In fact, if I had been Harry, I would have succeeded at hexing you."

He couldn't help it; the corners of his lips turned up. He hid it quickly in a smirk. Her answering half-smile told him that the danger had passed.

"Harry is more determined than I have ever seen him," she said quietly. "He is ready."

"But you, as yet, are not," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have told you before that the Dark Lord has taken an interest in you."

She nodded, pale once more, and he steeled himself to continue. "He has asked... that is, he has ordered me... I came because he ordered me to kill your family, Miss Granger."