Chapter One: Scars and Nightmares
Hermione breathed a frustrated sigh as her shoe sank into an inch of mud. It had rained for several days and the road through Hogsmeade was slowly disappearing under a layer of muck.
She was already rethinking her journey into the village, but she forced herself to push on. It was better than what was behind her at the castle.
Silence and broken things. Scars and nightmares. And emptiness in every room.
It was odd to be at Hogwarts when everyone else was home for the summer. She had sat in the empty Gryffindor Tower, amidst the shattered glass and crumbling walls. Trying to ignore the images that were forever branded in her mind.
Of course, the school wasn't completely empty. The staff and a handful of volunteers, including Hermione and a few of the Weasleys, had taken up the task of repairing the extensive damage that the battle had caused. However, only the staff were staying in the castle overnight. Apparition points had been set up for the rest of the workers.
They had been laboring for months now and they still weren't finished. The Quidditch pitch, after suffering major fire damage, had to be completely rebuilt. Several of the castle's towers had been damaged, along with the greenhouses and some of the other buildings on the grounds. And then there was the interior of the school itself; most of the paintings, furniture, and books were a wreck.
So much history destroyed so quickly. Hermione's heart broke every time she thought about it. Headmistress McGonagall, however, was optimistic that most of it would be repaired by the time the rest of the students returned in September.
As Hermione waded through another mud puddle, she noted that she'd finally reached the outskirts of the village. As she ambled along the main road, she tried to lose herself in the brightly colored storefronts. Tried to pretend that it was a simpler time.
With her feet on autopilot, she wandered down the main road, passing all of the shops where the students spent most of their time. Then, her eyes snapped to a man standing about ten feet in front of her. He had a camera clasped in his hands and when he saw Hermione, his eyes lit up.
The man started towards her. "Miss Granger! Would you mind if I took your picture for the paper?"
Another journalist.
A scowl overtook her features as her breath left her in a huff. Reporters from every periodical in the area had been hounding her for months. They would ask her question after question and take pictures of her every time she stepped outside. And then the next day she would find that she was the star of a new article that wasn't even half true.
She had risked her life for these people, and they couldn't even let her live the rest of it in peace.
Hermione quickly turned into the nearest building, neither knowing nor caring which one it actually was. Anything just to get away.
Severus Snape shoved the rickety door of The Hog's Head open with his shoulder and stepped inside. It was dark inside the small room and a lifetime of dirt clung to every surface. And that included the bar's patrons.
At least some things never change.
He moved to the bar and nodded to the man standing behind it. The bartender bent down and retrieved a grimy bottle of Firewhiskey, which he handed to Severus.
Snape slapped a coin down onto the bar and then turned to find an empty table. His eyes skimmed the crowd, and his fists clenched tightly around his drink as he realized that he recognized one of the patrons.
The man, who was already seated at a rather dingy table, seemed to recognize Snape at the same moment. The man's mouth hardened into a stern line as he gestured for Severus to join him.
With a sigh, Snape seated himself in the chair closest to the door. "Dominic Atherton. Why am I not surprised to see that you slithered out of another prison sentence?"
Atherton's smile was forced, and it showed his oddly small teeth. "Dear Severus, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I would say that I've missed you but I think we both know that would be a lie."
Snape scoffed, pried off the top of his Firewhiskey, and took a long swig. He lost himself in the fire that scorched its way from his mouth, through his throat, and into his stomach. He'd needed a drink for a long time and, after this encounter, he was going to need at least three more.
"What are you doing here, Atherton?"
The other man gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Just meeting a business associate. You know, I wasn't aware that you'd come back to Hogwarts. Maybe I should pop by for a visit sometime?" he said, malice dripping off of his words like poison.
"I don't believe that would be wise given your …reputation."
Dominic opened his mouth to make a retort, but whatever he was going to say was lost in the sound of the door opening and then slamming shut. Snape glanced towards the door and then did a double-take.
"Miss Granger?"
It had been a while since the last time he'd seen the girl. She seemed … different. She still wore her hair in the same way, every tendril springing out from her head in defiance. But the awkward angles of childhood had faded away and left slender curves in their place.
Though the thing that had undoubtedly changed the most were her eyes. These weren't the eyes of a child; they no longer retained the innocence that had brightened them during her school years. They were haunted now. They had seen evil.
And now that this woman was looking at him, they seemed to stare, not at him, but straight through to his soul.
Hermione had to put all of her weight into the door before it swung open with a loud, creaking sound. Shutting it quickly behind her before the reporter could follow, she glanced around what she immediately recognized as The Hog's Head.
"Miss Granger?"
She fought the urge to cringe; she would know that voice anywhere. It brought back memories of days spent over bubbling cauldrons and the freezing cold of the dungeons. Why did she feel like she was about to be scolded?
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said as she took a few steps towards him.
The weasel of a man sitting across from Snape watched her with beady eyes. "If it isn't Hermione Granger. The way the papers tell it, you were a big part of the Dark Lord's downfall." Then his gaze moved to Snape and he said, "Well, well. Playing with heroes, are we? And such a pretty one. What a shame that it's wasted on a Mudblood."
The man eyed her in a way that made her skin crawl. She felt like she needed a shower.
Hermione leaned across the table towards him, her brown eyes defiant. There was a small smirk playing on her lips as she spoke calmly. "Voldemort is gone. This Mudblood saw to that. So, you better watch what you say because there's no one for you to hide behind now."
Snape stood and gestured towards the door. She followed him outside without looking back at the man, but she heard him laugh darkly and mumble some retort.
Even the meager sunlight of the day was blinding after being in the gloomy tavern, and Hermione had to squint to see where she was going.
The reporter had apparently been lying in wait, but Snape moved past him without ever acknowledging his existence. Hermione decided to follow his lead, trying to ignore the steady snapping of pictures behind her.
He led her back down the main road, past the shops, towards the gates of Hogwarts. He was silent until they reached the edge of the village, and then he glanced down at her questioning face.
"Dominic Atherton is not someone whose company you want to be in. He was a big-time supporter of Voldemort."
"He was a Death Eater?" she asked, noticing that his expression tightened slightly at the mention of his former occupation.
"Not quite. More of a behind the scenes supporter. But still dangerous," he explained.
"Well, why isn't he in Azkaban?"
Snape scoffed. "It's likely that they didn't have enough proof. That man can weasel out of anything."
"Well, I think I handled that well. And if he wants to cause more trouble then I'll take care of it," Hermione replied confidently, tucking a piece of her unruly hair behind her ear.
Her professor stopped and turned to look down at her. They were standing on the cobblestone steps that led to the front door of the school.
"Typical brash, little Gryffindor. Always rushing in with their wands blazing," he said, his dark eyes staring into hers. Then with a swirl of his robes, he left her standing quite alone.