Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I don't own anything actually, except this wild imagination of mine. =)

This would be my very first attempt at fanfiction, but I'm not asking you to pity me. Writing is a passion for me and I want to improve, fanfiction will keep me on my toes, not to mention, I love Harry Potter. So please feel free to review, I'd always like to know what you think.


It was mid-day, and the bright afternoon sun shone in vibrant rays through a dusty window above the door of a small shabby cottage. The light fought it's way valiantly past the dust and grime that coated the small pane and landed brightly on the upsidedown face of a young woman.

Hermione found herself, once again, lounging in her favorite, most comfortable arm chair, with her feet dangling over one side, and head hanging over the other, wild hair falling to meet the stone floor. Sporadically she would sway her head back and forth and watch the spiraling ends of the bushy substance drag the stone flooring that provided the foundation for her small home. Relaxing like this was one of the small pleasures she allowed herself these days.

She had "borrowed" the chair from Dumbledore's office after the war ended, and he along with it. She felt somewhat guilty, filching the chair, but it was something by which to remember the old wizard whom she had held so dear. It positively screamed Dumbledore, with its midnight blue fabric, decorated sparsely with colorful crescent moons and stars.

After the war, there had been nearly nothing remaining of her previous life, including her old friends. Harry had unfortunately perished on the way to St. Mungo's following from his fiery showdown with Voldemort, from which he emerged the victor. The healers said it was an unknown hex flung in the Dark Lord's dying moments that had done him in. Coupled with the exhaustion he had suffered from releasing nearly all of the magic in his body, they said, even a simple body bind spell could have killed him.

Ron, ironically, lived for a few years after the end of the war. He decided to finally live now that he had no impending danger on his back, and began travelling the world. It was after a trip to Egypt with Bill that doctors diagnosed him with a very rare form of skin cancer. It took only six months for it to consume him completely. Ron had been like the brother she had never had, and the loss had been devastating for Hermione, so much so, that she almost did not attend the funeral. However, after a long talk with McGonagall, and sitting behind Dumbledore's desk for almost three hours debating with herself, she concluded that she would make an appearance.

After the funeral, nobody really saw much of her anymore. It was apparent to all that Hermione had decided becoming a recluse was definitely the life for her; no more of this running around almost getting herself killed business. Though she lived alone, people spotted her occasionally bustling about Hogsmeade gathering things for, well, whatever she was doing out there by herself. There were ridiculous rumors circulating that she was a vampire, or that she had fallen in love with a centaur and they lived happily together in the forbidden forest, never making contact with anyone.

Of course, none of this tittle-tattle was true, and Hermione scoffed at the fact that anyone would believe such things about a sensible girl like her. Really, she had more brains than that! Okay, so maybe she did venture off into the forest occasionally to try and make contact with the centaurs, but that was purely educational! Besides, she could never love any of them; they were too proud, too quick to anger.

What she had actually been up to was a mystery to even Ginny, who now and again brought Hermione supplies for her numerous projects and potions. Ginny didn't at all mind being Hermione's delivery person, it was a pleasure to visit with her, she just wished Hermione would open up to her a bit, tell her what had been going on in her life. After all, they had been close friends before the war. However, she supposed if solitude was what Hermione needed in order to move on with her life, then she would just have to learn to live with it.

As Hermione sat in her favorite position, in her favorite chair, a sharp rapping on the door interrupted her musings. Sitting up abruptly, she furrowed her brow in the direction of the door. She hadn't asked Ginny to bring her anything, as she was taking the day off today. And the person knocking, judging from the location of the sound, was much taller than Ginny, anyway.

Frowning, Hermione stood, and slowly started to pull the wand from the back pocket of her jeans. She padded carefully to the door, reached out a hand but then hesitated. What if it was someone from the ministry trying to offer her a job, it had happened before. Worse, it could be one of her old peers.

Changing her mind, she headed for the rotting back door instead. She pushed it open carefully, and stepped into the night. Whoever was out there was in for a surprise. She circled around to the front of the house, giving it a wide birth. Through the waning light, she could see that it was a man at her doorstep, tall and slender, but she couldn't decipher much else.

"Alright," she thought, mouth pressed into a grim line, "ready or not, here I come."


Severus Snape had been enjoying his sweet solitude when the Headmistress's head stuck itself rudely from his fireplace.

After a long day of trying to pound information through the thick skulls of his students, he preferred to wind down with an armchair, a book, and a bottle of brandy. He was halfway through the fourth chapter of a popular muggle novel, The Grapes of Wrath, when he was startled out of his appraisal by the face in the fire. The book flew from his hand as his muscles twitched in temporary fright, effectively knocking over the bottle of liquor. He sprang from his position and Accioed the offending novel while attempting at preventing the brandy from dripping onto his carpet.

"Yes, Headmistress?" He spat through clenched teeth, once his heart decelerated enough that he regained the capacity for coherent thought.

"Ah, Severus, Just the man I wanted to see." She sang.

"Obviously, or you wouldn't have flooed to my chambers and startled the beating heart out of my chest." He remarked bitterly. His lap was now soaked in alcohol, and the smell was quickly becoming dizzying. He contemplated excusing himself to change, but quickly decided that he would rather get this over with, and the sooner the better.

Minerva's eyes sparkled a bit behind her tiny reading glasses, "Perhaps you should, ah, clean yourself up a bit?" She arched an eyebrow that suggested the smell was offending her delicate nose. Severus rolled his eyes and made a helpless gesture with his hands.

"Honestly, Minerva, will you just get on with it? You've interrupted my reading, and nearly ruined my carpeting, surely it is important, let's hear it!"

"Well Severus, as you well know, I and the other members of the staff are adamant about you teaching Defense next term. This of course, leaves your position as Potions Master regretfully open." McGonagall looked to Severus's face to discern if he was following, was met with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a scowl, and trudged on. "I have a job for you Severus. I want you to find our long lost Hermione--"

"Granger?" Snape cut her off with a growl and an incredulous expression. "Why, she's been gone for years! Why must it be her, isn't there someone else competent enough to take the position?"

The look that he received confirmed his suspicions that, no, there was not, and even if there had been, McGonagall had her heart set on the bushy little brat.

"Is there someone else who can go on your little goose hunt. I'm busy, and I make it a point not to go looking for ratty little Gryffindors when I can ignore their existence instead." He was almost pleading now, and if this wasn't a serious matter McGonagall would have chuckled a bit at his antics.

"Severus, the only other option we have is sending Remus out there, and the full moon is in three days. You know that would be unwise." She looked at him expectantly over her glasses.

"Fine," He sighed resignedly, "alright I'll go, but I can't make any promises. She's avoided the press, the Ministry, the public, who's to say she can't avoid me?" And with that he swept of to bed in an angry cloud of black.

As he was leaving he swore he heard McGonagall mutter under her breath, "Perhaps, she won't want to."


That was how Severus Snape found himself standing on the door step of a rather run down little grey house. The shutters hung at crazy angles, one of the windows was broken, and the paint was peeling. Overall, it possessed a bit of an Edgar Allen Poe feel. In the dark, at this time of night, it was almost creepy.

When he assessed that no one was going to answer he stepped back from the door. "Perhaps Miss Weasley gave me the wrong directions." He mumbled to himself. Leave it up to a Weasley to do something like that. He scowled in annoyance.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he found himself yanked backwards by his hair. He hit the ground hard enough to loose his breath, and when he came to, there was a small body sitting on him, and cool metal pressed under his jaw. In the dim light emanating from the muggle bulb on the porch, he could make up a mass of wild curly hair floating above him.