Nocturnus33 asked me to write a story set in Chile where Hermione comes to help victims of the recent earthquake and tsunami. She arrives with the same attitude she had with SPEW–a little patronising and overbearing. Then she encounters someone she never expected to see again...

I won't pretend this was an easy prompt to write to, and I'm sure some readers will feel my writing is not appropriately skilled for the subject matter. Please bear in mind that this is simply a gift designed to raise a smile. Gigantic thanks go to Melusin for beta reading. As well as the usual disclaimers, I should add that any similarities with actual people are purely coincidental and not in any way meant to cause offence.

Magnitude

Chapter One: Things that Go Bump in the Night

At the back of the Serious Artefact Accidents ward, on the ground floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, there is a tiny office. In this room, Healers take turns to perch on the single stool the space allows to write up their notes, consult reference books and fill in their potion order forms. When the ward is busy, and overtime is worked, they also take turns sitting on the floor in the corner, leaning against the wall and catching forty winks as the opportunity arises. One black square of the checkerboard linoleum has been charmed so often to cushion weary bottoms that it permanently sags.

On a shelf near the door, there is a Wizarding Wireless. The radio has only two pre-set stations. Surprisingly, one is Muggle: BBC Radio 4. Less surprisingly, the other is the WWN Newscast. When something truly big and bad has happened in the outside world, the Healers tend to cram themselves close and listen for news of what they should expect.

Healer Hermione Granger can still vividly remember December 26th 2004. She had been working for fifteen hours and sleeping on the floor for six minutes when her boss slid into the office and flicked the radio's on/off switch. The usual inane chatter of the early morning DJ blared out for half a minute before Lee Jordan's beautiful, deep, newsreader voice broke in, telling of an earthquake in the Indian Ocean and early reports of a gigantic tsunami.

'I had one of those feelings,' Healer Timothy Gazini murmured, tuning to Radio 4.

Hermione nodded dumbly and rubbed her gritty eyes. Two more of her colleagues had wandered over and were standing in the doorway. One of them shook his head and sighed.

'Merlin, there must be a lot of casualties. But mostly Muggle, I suppose.'

'No need for us to bother about it, then,' snapped Hermione.

'I beg your pardon?'

She wrinkled her nose and yawned. 'You heard me.'

Healer Gazini looked down at Hermione and narrowed his eyes. His expression made her wish she could sink through her soft lino seat and disappear. 'You should have gone home ages ago,' he said. 'Get out of here and don't come back until you've had some decent sleep.'

That afternoon, Hermione dozed on the sofa as endlessly repeated tourist video clips were shown on Sky News. The next day, she received an owl from Timothy Gazini. He told her that he'd assembled a team of five Mediwizards, and they were travelling by Portkey to Northern Sumatra to help the affected Indonesian magical population, mostly located outside Sibolga.

He didn't ask her to join the team.

When Timothy returned, Hermione asked him what it had been like, and he couldn't answer at first. Eventually, he said, 'After the first two days, we spent most of our time helping to bury the Muggle dead. Sometimes we had to Accio bodies. We couldn't even rebuild. The Muggles would have gone to pieces if random houses had started appearing overnight.'

'Surely you could hide them? Use wards or something.'

'The coastal belt is a wasteland; there's just no cover. The surviving witches and wizards have put up tents and shacks like everybody else. They've been desalinating wells and farmland, and they're smuggling food in by Portkey, but they've decided to share what they have and mix in as much as possible.'

'But that's good! They should be helping with rebuilding generally. At least by conjuring materials and speeding up construction when nobody is looking. They can just Obliviate anyone who asks questions.'

'There aren't enough people to do that. Whether or not Obliviation is justifiable–and that point is always debateable–there would be huge attention, and probably conflict, because some places improved much quicker than others. It's only been three weeks. You've got no idea what it's like. The scale. Everybody is mourning; everybody is still in shock. Sometimes, the most supportive thing to do is less than you could do. At least for now.'

She emphatically didn't agree.

o0o

On Wednesday, 13th January 2010, Hermione marched into SAA, waving a copy of the Evening Standard.

'No,' Timothy Gazini said.

'What?'

'There's a small magical population in Port au Prince, and the hospital is sending two Mediwizards to assist the French team going. You aren't one of them.' He pulled her into the office and shut the door. 'Hermione, it's difficult. Vodou and magic, you know? They'll have to be really subtle.'

'Right. I see. Of course you can't have insensitive Gryffindors like me blundering around.'

'It's got nothing to do with the poxy, bloody house you were sorted into at school!'

'So it's just me who isn't good enough!'

Timothy folded his arms and met Hermione's eye unwaveringly. 'In this case, given the views you've expressed in the past, no. You aren't good enough. Healers have to work without constant supervision, and I'm afraid I don't trust you not to try something stupid. You're just as likely to frighten people as to help.'

She couldn't believe how insulted she felt. What the hell did he know about what Muggles needed in times of crisis? The man was a pure-blood, for Christ's sake. He was probably mates with Lucius Malfoy. His wife probably swapped house-elf torture tips with Narcissa.

'When you trained here, you chose the magical world,' Timothy said more gently. 'Not as a nosy little girl, but as a grown witch making an informed decision. Our job is to care for magical people as best we can. If we barged in and took over every time the Muggle population was in crisis, we'd neglect our responsibilities and degrade theirs! Where would they be without antibiotics and vaccines? Without x-rays and scalpels? Muggles develop the things they need, often during terrible times! We can't interfere with that.'

Hermione snorted derisively. 'Come off it, Tim! Just admit that you don't want anything to do with Muggles, and you don't trust me not to cause embarrassment.'

'Hermione, that isn't true!'

She didn't believe him.

o0o

At just after half-past three in the morning, Severus Snape literally fell out of bed. The floor of his little house pitched and quaked as if a passing giant had decided to pick it up and give it a bloody good shake. He had felt the odd tremor before, but nothing approaching this.

He crawled about on all fours, managing to locate his wand just before it rolled out of the bedroom door. Staggering outside, he realised he was naked at precisely the same moment as the front wall of his house tipped over sideways and disappeared down the side of the hill he lived on. The metal roof shuddered for a moment before another seismic jolt brought it down. As a couple of man-sized boulders bounded past him down the slope, Severus felt a completely illogical urge to run and tell somebody. To bark evacuation orders or explain the process of tectonic plate subduction. But he lived on his own, and there was nobody near enough to shout at.

An epoch later (or possibly a minute), the earth stood still. Not a squeak came from the trees, and no lights shone in the distance. An enormous moon sat disgracefully calmly in the sky, painting the world with monochrome precision. He spent uncountable time simply gasping for breath before turning towards his house and whispering, 'Reparo!' There was no need to verbalise the spell, but the reassurance that he hadn't completely lost his voice was comforting.

Grumbling and creaking, the house righted itself. Wooden planks and chunks of insulated plasterboard appeared out of the shadows and coalesced into a recognisable wall that shuffled apologetically under the edge of the waiting roof and settled into place. A few books followed, whizzing through the open door and presumably sliding back onto their reassembled shelf. Severus closed his eyes and thanked Merlin profoundly for his magic.

He pulled on some jeans and a jumper and cast a truly enormous Unbreakable Charm on his home. One that covered the whole house, his garden and even sank into the surrounding bedrock. By the time he'd added some cosmetic damage in case anybody came looking, a bell had begun to ring.

A mile away as the broom flew, the nearest settlement was a tiny fishing village, boasting anchorage for five small motor boats and one twenty-tonne launch. In the idle night air, the rhythmic clamour of the bell sounded much closer. It took a while to realise what the alarm was for, but a casual conversation with a seaweed collector came back to him in a rush: boat sinking, fire, a tsunami.

Severus knew people in the village. People who didn't ask questions and who didn't moan when he gave them medicine that tasted bad. Whose houses were only a little bit sturdier than his. Who could be lying under fallen beams or washed away by an insane sea. Without conscious thought, he rose into the air and shot forwards, flying over the coastal highway and aiming for the shimmer of the huge full moon on the waves.

Disillusionment whilst airborne was hard, but achievable with practice. Severus hovered fifty feet up, invisible to the naked eye. He watched people racing along the dirt road away from the shoreline and tried to count heads like a proper schoolteacher. Thirty, forty, fifty people. Sixty. Sixty-three. The summer vacation meant that wives and children had joined their men by the sea, and the village was full of life. A few goats and one white cat skittered through the shadows as the bell stopped ringing. Everyone had fled. Probably. Hopefully.

Rising stealthily at first, water gurgled around the walls of the houses. Boats strained at their moorings and clattered against each other, each of them a livelihood at risk. Severus cast a cutting spell, snapping ropes in a twanging, tuneless chorus before arcing his wand hand upwards, lifting the hulls clear of suddenly racing foam. Buildings screamed in protest, those already quake-crumpled shattering and tumbling amongst the surf. A truck. A refrigerator. Fully grown trees. Empty Coca Cola bottles jingling merrily as they escaped their plastic crate. The sea's fingers clawed at land hundreds of yards beyond their usual reach and then carelessly dropped possessions as they retreated again.

The air pressure sank with the ocean, popping Severus' ears and toppling him out of the sky before he had time to adjust. He landed with a squelch, surrounded by the boats he had Levitated and the sulphurous stink of anoxic mud. Struggling to his feet, he knew they had to be moved, but a flock of flying fishing vessels were enough to make any Muggle look twice, even if it was four in the morning and the world was ending. He cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm and mentally crossed his fingers. As he swept the boats up in his magical embrace and carried them to safety, a second wave roared in behind him.

Landing near a small herd of aggressively wary cattle, Severus artistically distributed his catch. He flipped a boat hull-side-up and rested another one almost vertically against the trunk of a tree. The launch sat forlornly lopsided and covered with grime. He beckoned the high water line closer with a flick of his wand until the boats' location seemed feasible before turning to watch, open mouthed, when a third wall of water swamped the land before him and tore everything remaining to pieces.

o0o

Hermione arrived in Santiago, alone, the evening after the earthquake. The Chilean Ministry of Magic had not requested international aid, and her Portkey was homemade and unsanctioned. She was guilty of illegal entry: the first crime she had committed since breaking into, and out of, Gringotts during the war. Because of this, she avoided the wizarding district in the commune of Ñuñoa, instead choosing to loiter near the Estación Central, guessing that an English traveller might not seem so out of place there.

Parts of the city were completely blacked out, and the station wasn't active. She shouldered her backpack and walked aimlessly north, unsure of what to do. People were gathered on street corners, chatting quietly in rapid, accented Spanish that her European translation charms had trouble interpreting. Signs of the quake came in unexpected pockets. Masonry had fallen from churches; the occasional apartment block looked strangely unbalanced. Where rubble lay in the road, small groups of teenagers kicked fragments around or recorded the scene on their mobile phones. The atmosphere was almost festive: gossipy, but strained.

Eventually, Hermione came across a park in which a number of people had pitched tents, mistrusting their beds while the aftershocks kept coming. The scent of coffee made her mouth water. A radio blared in the twilight, such a familiar sound that she stood and listened greedily.

The news was of smashed roads. Rumours of looting. Tsunami waves and massive damage in cities further south. It became blindingly apparent that she was useless in Santiago. She took off her backpack, pulled out a large book and a small purple Maglite and flipped to a page with a photograph. In the picture, large trees were interspersed with neat adobe houses painted a seemingly random range of bright colours.

Hermione shut the book with a slam that frightened several of the tent-dwellers. She waved an apologetic hand, jogged down a path until she was definitely out of sight, concentrated hard on the image and Disapparated as quietly as possible.

o0o

Having spent the day treating minor injuries and helping his shell-shocked neighbours salvage food and water bottles from the ruins of their homes, Severus was sickened by the persistent muddy whiff coming from his skin and hair. He felt the need to sharpen his appearance. To not seem shabby or lacking in control. Something earthquake-related had knackered the plumbing, and there was no running water in his house. He washed thoroughly and uncomfortably, using a cold shower conjured with his wand, and dressed himself in combat trousers and a collarless shirt.

He had offered to open his home up to the village for sleeping and cooking, but everyone had declined. The men said they were worried about strangers arriving and combing the remains of the village for loot. The women didn't want to be anywhere other than within sight of the men. Not even the children were coming to bunk up under a safe roof. It seemed illogical to Severus, and the feeling that he was such a disgusting person that nobody could bear to be near him sneaked out of the mental box he'd locked it up in and threatened to overwhelm him. Standing outside his repaired house, clean and clean-shaven, he felt indescribably lonely.

The evening was fine and fairly warm. A grey haze sat over the ignominiously sulking sea. He disliked the idea of leaving the few square miles he now called home, but he needed information, and he craved a little company. Gazing out at a coastline that seemed to consist entirely of black mud and matchsticks, trying not to think about the potential complications associated with magical transportation during seismic activity, Severus focussed on his destination and Disapparated.

o0o

The only wholly magical settlement in Chile is a little town tucked away in a forest reserve by the sea. The trees were planted to prevent sand dunes encroaching on a nearby town, and while Muggles enjoy the beautiful woodland walks, there is one area that they never seem to get around to exploring. They might have been easily distracted, but Severus was not. He arrived in the middle of Dunas Ocultadas with pinpoint precision and a crack like a .22 rifle shot.

'Buenos días, Severo!' called a familiar, portly man. 'I was thinking we would see you.'

'Hola, Ernesto. How are you?'

'Okay. We always had protections in place so it has been bumpy, but safe.'

'No damage?'

Ernesto shrugged a smug negative. 'Not here. I guess it's a little different outside.'

'You could say that.'

'This crazy witch arrived a little while ago. She keeps saying we should go out and help the Muggles. We tell her that they will cope on their own, and she says we have no morals! She is drinking coffee and complaining to Anna. She calls me immoral, but accepts my wife's hospitality. Typical English!'

Severus frowned. 'English?'

'Si! Maybe you know her. Come and have coffee and find out!'

He followed Ernesto across the village square and into a ridiculously cheerful, bright blue house. A churning mixture of nerves and a strange, homesick joy at the sound of received pronunciation rendered him silent.

Sat at the kitchen table, holding court while a slightly glazed-eyed Anna listened, and the youngest child of the house flicked through a large book entitled The Magic of South America, was Hermione Granger. From the sound of things, she hadn't changed much.

'There's so much we could be doing! We can mend houses and water pipes and roads and railway lines and power lines... Well, maybe not those, but you know what I mean.'

'Wouldn't the Muggles notice?' Anna asked politely.

'Instant repair of flattened homes might raise a few eyebrows,' Severus drawled. 'If we were going to help, it would be better without magic.'

Anna blinked in bewilderment. 'They can mend their own houses and pipes without magic.'

'Of course they can!' Hermione exclaimed. 'But with magic, it would take us a fraction of the time!'

Severus gestured dramatically with the cup and saucer Ernesto had handed him. 'There was an earthquake! A big bloody tsunami! Have you even felt one of the aftershocks, yet? I have an inkling that the Muggle population might get a tad suspicious if things started spontaneously recovering all over Chile.'

'We could be subtle about it.'

'And how do you suggest we do that? Repair one in three houses? Leave just a few bodies lying around so things aren't too tidy?'

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'What, then?'

She folded her arms and lifted her chin. 'Masquerade as emergency workers. Administer magical first aid. Recover people who are trapped.'

'Muggle emergency workers are trained in particular procedures and methods. We can heal the injured, but could just as easily put other rescuers at risk because our perception of safe conditions doesn't match theirs.'

'I'm Muggle born! I think I know what's safe and what isn't.'

'When's the last time you worked with Muggles? Have you ever?'

'I used to be a receptionist for Mum and Dad, actually.'

'I take it that makes you highly qualified for paramedic work in disaster areas?'

Hermione scowled. 'All right, then, what about rebuilding?'

'How would we do that without being obvious? I can cast a Reparo spell, but I have no idea what quality or size of timber is required to build a Chilean house. Or how to conjure an apartment block's worth of concrete, let alone make it tremor-proof. Do you?'

'You're just trying to be difficult!'

'No, I'm not. I'm trying to think like a Muggle. Something which you, of all people, should be able to do!'

She gave him a dirty look, and then a horrified one, as she finally realised exactly who she was shouting at.

'Er, Professor?'

'Yes?'

'Whatwhenhow? You! I mean...'

He sipped his coffee fastidiously. 'Hmmm? I didn't quite catch that.'

'You do know her!' Ernesto cried delightedly. 'I knew it!'

'You know him?' Hermione asked Anna anxiously. 'You know who he is?'

'Si!' Anna said with a grin. 'Severo was exiled here twelve years ago. I think your Ministry of Magic has a sense of humour, exiling someone to Chile.'

'To Robinson Crusoe Island for four years!' Ernesto added gleefully. 'Your government amuses us.'

Hermione's brow wrinkled. 'I remember the hearings for your case were closed to the public, and there wasn't any news coverage about what happened to you. I nagged Harry about it for weeks, but he wouldn't tell me anything! It doesn't sound as if the Wizengamot took you very seriously in the end.'

'Oh, they did. I just happened to catch Kingsley Shacklebolt in a whimsical mood at my sentencing,' Severus explained. 'Plus, it was the Brits' turn to man the international research station on the island, and I was well qualified and very cheap.'

'It doesn't seem to have done you any harm. You're looking well!'

He didn't know how to reply. He knew full well that Hermione Granger's experience of him was more or less the nadir of experiences of him. His neighbours' rejection of his hospitality was a worry, but now he thought about it, they hadn't turned down his medicine and bandages. And they had trusted him not to steal from their ruined homes. What Miss Granger thought of him was another matter entirely.

'I'm glad you're looking well,' Hermione added hesitantly.

o0o

Coffee became dinner–a quick meal because Severus told a lie and said he had to get home to make repairs.

After a meaningful look from him, Hermione had stopped nagging on about forming a Muggle rescue unit and contented herself with asking about the local geography instead. Granted, she might have asked a few leading questions about major highways and the size of nearby towns, but Ernesto and Anna didn't seem to notice.

Apparently, she had worked a day shift at St Mungo's, informed her boss that she wanted to take a week's annual leave, gone home, packed a bag and created a very naughty Portkey. Over yet more coffee, Severus eyed her speculatively.

'Have you sorted out somewhere to stay?'

'Um, no. I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose Ernesto will know a guesthouse somewhere.'

'It's not exactly what you were thinking of, but there are a few things I was planning to do. If you want to come with me, we could make a start tonight.'

Hermione straightened in her chair and stared at him eagerly. 'Really? I thought you said I was being daft.'

'Glaringly unsubtle, but not exactly daft. I'd like to make it absolutely clear that there will be no raising cities from the ashes or miracle medical cures, though.'

She shrugged one shoulder and lowered her eyes. 'I gathered that. I'm sorry to be such a Gryffindor, but I hate the feeling of not doing enough.'

Severus snorted. 'That's got nothing to do with being a Gryffindor and everything to do with being a managing female who ministered to a martyr for years. You aim to help people, but you're convinced that unless it's done exactly the way you want, chaos awaits!'

She winced. 'I said some terrible things to my colleagues at St Mungos. They think I'm a total bitch.'

'Did they watch you throwing yourself into danger every year at school?'

'No.'

'Did they ever feel hopeless, and hunted, and desperately alone? Do they know what it's like to lose their home, and their family, and even their status as a human being?'

'I don't think so.'

'Well, then.'

o0o

As Hermione seemed to be handy with a Portkey, Severus merely gave her enough time to dump her rucksack on his sitting room floor, have a quick pee ('There's no water so you'll have to Evanesco when you're done.') and turn one of his teaspoons into a return trip to Hawaii ('They're six hours behind us–the shops will still be open.').

Maui was hot. The Cash & Carry warehouse that Severus unerringly Side-Along Apparated them to was even hotter. Hermione blinked at an enormous display of yellowfin tuna and followed him through aisles of bewildering variety, none of which he seemed to notice. He filled a trolley with trays of tinned pinto beans, and sacks of rice and flour and then filled Hermione's trolley with gallon bottles of water. He wedged cans of Spam into any remaining cracks and set off for the check-out.

'What is this for?' she asked, jogging to catch up.

'All the dried goods are ruined, and the water is bollocksed. They can slaughter a cow or catch fish; there's plenty of fruit and veg inland. But I thought this would be handy. And feasible for me to have stashed at home.'

'Who can slaughter a cow?'

'My friends. Well, um, neighbours, really. The village was hit badly, and there's not much of it left.'

'The village?'

'Where I live. By the sea where I live.'

'There's a village by the sea where you live, and it's been destroyed?'

'That's what I just said!'

Hermione gazed at Severus with her eyebrows raised.

'You're taking supplies to the destroyed village by the sea where you live.'

'Obviously.'

She beamed. 'That's great!'

'Isn't it? Be an angel and get your credit card out. They take Visa and Mastercard.'

Left without a moral leg to stand on, Hermione complied. But not before she'd added a couple of king-sized milk chocolate bars to the pile. And dried herbs, stock cubes, vegetable oil, multivitamins, a fistful of toothbrushes and several tubes of Colgate.

'Chocolate will cheer people up, but there's no need to neglect one's teeth,' she said primly.

Back at Severus' house, they returned their shrunken shopping to its normal size. He enlarged a pan to "catering for a little village" proportions and rifled through his cupboards (including the charmed one that served as his fridge), gathering ground beef, vegetables, chillies, potatoes and stock. Hermione picked some herbs from the garden, chopped whatever she was told to and watched as he threw together a hasty version of charquicán.

When it was ready, and the pot was bewitched to be light and easy to carry, they set off down the hill, each hanging on to a handle with the soup pot dangling between them.

A mile later, Severus caught sight of her face in the moonlight and noticed the bags under her eyes. It suddenly occurred to him that it was about two in the morning her time, and she'd had a very busy day.

'We're nearly there,' he said quietly. 'The coastline has changed quite a lot, and they've set up a sort of camp inland from where the village is.'

'Was anybody killed?'

'No, thank Merlin. A few broken bones needed setting, and one little boy had a nasty cut that I stitched up at dawn, but other than that, we were lucky.'

'You stitched?' Hermione asked, surprised.

'I learned the basics years ago. In case my wand got snapped.'

With alarming suddenness, a figure appeared out of the shadows and called sharply in Spanish, 'Who are you?'

Hermione was shocked to see that the man held a shotgun and barely restrained herself from dropping the soup and brandishing her wand. She was slightly surprised that Severus hadn't even flinched.

'Bona tarda, Mateo!' he replied calmly. 'It's me. And my friend, Hermione. We thought you would like something to eat.'

'Severo! I'm sorry; I expected you would be alone.' He sniffed the air expectantly.

'Charquicán. We made it very quickly,' said Severus apologetically.

'It smells great! Everyone is very tired and hungry,' Mateo added and led them on down the track towards the sea, shotgun pointed at the ground.

The villagers had built a fire of timber so splintered and broken that it couldn't be salvaged. The flames lit melancholy faces, which brightened a little as Mateo called for plates and bowls. A strange collection of mismatched ceramics and tin mugs were gathered, and Hermione busied herself with a ladle that a woman proudly handed her.

'Thank you! My name is Hermione,' she said awkwardly.

'Valentina,' came the reply.

A quiet crowd began to form. Gruff introductions and thanks were given. Hermione tried desperately to remember names. Vincent, Jose, Felipe and Pablo, the crew of the twenty-tonne launch. Felipe's wife, Isidora, who had a terrible black eye. A six year-old called Angel, who showed her his bandaged arm.

The soup was dished out and eaten so quickly that she wished they had brought more. When she tried to apologise, a chorus of voices denied her.

'I'm not hungry now, but I like Mummy's cooking better,' Angel said sleepily, leaning against the nearest available body.

Sat cross-legged near the fire, Severus scowled fiercely, but to Hermione's surprise, the boy simply climbed onto his lap and fell asleep in his arms. She watched as Severus carefully checked Angel's bandage and rocked him gently, cheek resting against the top of his head.

'I expect we will all have nightmares,' he said in the carrying whisper she remembered from school. In an instant, the whole village was listening. 'Before you sleep, you should try to relax and empty your mind of fear. Think of a safe, peaceful place and concentrate on it when you shut your eyes. If anyone has bad dreams for more than three nights in a row, please tell me.'

The effect was hypnotic. People began to yawn and stretch out where they sat in preparation for sleep. Hermione silently berated herself for forgetting to bring the toothbrushes until she noticed Severus smirking at her and knew he'd read her thoughts. He uncurled his long legs and stood, Angel still slumbering in his arms until his mother came and gathered him up with a grateful smile.

'Tell five men to come to my house tomorrow,' Severus told her quietly. 'We have food and water to spare.'

'Thank you, Severo,' she whispered back. 'God bless you and your friend, Hermione.'

As they walked home, an aftershock quivered spitefully through the earth. Hermione gasped and dropped her pot handle.

'Get used to it,' Severus told her. 'That's the fifth big tremor today.'

She stared up at him with huge, frightened eyes and gestured back towards the shore. 'Will they be okay?'

'I suspect they slept right through it,' he said lightly. He hefted the soup pot up, encircled it with his arms and clasped it to his chest, starting to walk again without looking at her.

Hermione frowned. People had been knackered, but not that knackered. A suspicion germinated and grew. 'Bloody hell, you're such a hypocrite!' she exclaimed, striding to catch up. 'You cast a spell!'

He looked up at the sky and kept walking. 'Maybe just a little one.'

To be continued...