Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JKR. I do not profit from writing this story.

Author's Notes: I send all of my gratitude to my talented and dedicated beta, melusin. I must warn that this will be a darkfic, containing violence and dubcon.


Hermione shot up in bed, grateful she had not been verbally mimicking the screaming of her dream.

Nightmare… memory.

She kicked away the covers, knowing a shower was sorely needed to wash away the stench of night sweats. These disturbances were one of the many reasons Ron hardly spent the night anymore.

Rising out of bed, Hermione pulled her bedroom curtain open with thoughtful precision. Some days, she would continue wallowing in her mussed sheets, weighing the consequences versus the benefits of not getting up.

Guilt was always the deciding factor. What on earth did she have to be sulky about? Her life was certainly satisfactory by most modest standards.

She had a fulfilling and high-ranking position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her status and pay provided adequate means to maintain her comfy flat in a desirable neighborhood just outside Diagon Alley.

And she was weeks away from having a perfect wedding. 'The Wedding', as the tabloids favored dubbing it. Not since the famous 'Potter Wedding' had the wizarding world taken such an interest in celebrity nuptials.

"Celebrity." Hermione snorted in disgust.

Unlocking the patio door, Hermione welcomed the brisk September morning but quickly frowned at the state of her potted plants. The wizarding epidemic of negligence seemed unavoidable, even in her own home.

The wedding…

Hermione's stomach twisted just thinking about it.

She loved Ron; there was no doubt about that. So why shouldn't they get married?

It's just cold feet, Hermione convinced herself. She had spoken to Ginny about this—who had a full five years of marriage behind her—and the younger girl's arguments had made sense.

We've waited too long.

Hermione and Ron weren't madly in love anymore. Naturally, their relationship had cooled, and Hermione had no reservations about that. Therefore, she shouldn't have unrealistic expectations of how amazing and exciting their wedding should be if such sensations weren't even present in the relationship itself. But as logical as it all sounded, this rationalization hadn't calmed her nerves until she had heard it spoken aloud from another's mouth.

"Take the wedding out of the picture, Hermione. Would you still be with Ron tomorrow? Next week? Next year? If you can imagine yourself with him forever, why shouldn't you two be married?"

Hermione had to admit it made sense, but she knew Ginny's opinion was entirely subjective. Ginny and Harry had married barely a month after the redhead had sat her N.E.. They believed themselves to be amazingly in love, which apparently was the only ingredient necessary to know destiny demanded they spend the rest of their lives together in marital bliss—so why wait?

Hermione smiled to herself with a slight shake of her head. Everything had been so exciting back then. Some days, the six years that had passed since Harry had defeated Voldemort felt like an entirely different life. Some days it felt like the blink of an eye.

Hermione was merely experiencing withdrawals, plain and simple. Unlike the rest of her friends, Hermione had been having trouble adapting to a life where she didn't have to constantly glance over her shoulder for fear of being attacked or followed.

For seven years straight, Hermione had tolerated the complications of war and prejudice. Like clockwork, each new school year had forced one turmoil on top of another, cumulating in some fierce battle or another until finally climaxing with the inevitable 'Final Battle'.

And then, one day the fighting had stopped. The life she had grown accustomed to, sometimes even enjoyed, was suddenly over.

No one even talked about it anymore.

Especially that last day. Even thinking about it left Hermione feeling uneasy and guilty, but she couldn't fully understand why.

A day never went by where Hermione didn't fidget restlessly over the choice of simply living and enjoying her satisfying life or abandoning everything in a search for answers. She comprehended this was her… problem, but Hermione wasn't used to keeping things in like this. Her chest ached almost daily, filled with remorse over the numerous instances where she had tried to coax Ron into a conversation about the last day—the day Harry had defeated Voldemort. She understood why he never wanted to talk about it, let alone analyze every little detail. The loss of Fred was still fresh for her as well.

She and Ron had left Hogwarts and had never gone back. The last memories she had of her school were smoke, debris, fires… and bodies.

All this had been the topic of the conversation with Ron last night. As per usual, nothing was resolved, and it unsettled her.

Hermione and Ron had been sitting outside on the patio, sharing a wool blanket her mum had knitted for her. She sipped at her tea slowly, gazing lazily at the clouded night sky.

"Where do you think our professors were buried?" she asked softly.

Ron stiffened next to her. Hermione allowed him to continue ignoring her question before she inclined her head.

"Ron…"

"We were having a good night, weren't we?" His voice was a little strained—and a little hurt.

"I just have questions, that's all. I'm not living in the past." Hermione said this last part with the conviction that she had recently been accused otherwise.

Ron tried to laugh away the tense atmosphere. "You always have questions."

"I just can't help but wonder. We never went back—"

"We shouldn't even be looking back. I just want us to be happy, Hermione. Can't you be happy with me?"

"Of course."

"Then please understand that I need to… forget."

"I know. But you need to understand that I can't do that." Negligence—everyday she was suffocating in willful negligence.

"Everyone else has."

"And it feels wrong, Ron."

She was losing him. Ron's face had relaxed. He had already entered that place in his mind that so many wizards and witches welcomed when memories and conversations touched upon the past. Some things were difficult for her to talk about as well, but unlike all of Hermione's friends and coworkers, at least she made an effort. She couldn't understand that spot in the back of their minds that said, 'What's the point? We won. It's over.'

"I'm going back."

"No!"

Hermione patted his knee, a tight smile on her face. "I'm not asking you to come with me. Besides, I can do this on my own."

He opened his mouth and shut it quickly. Ron sensed Hermione shake her head in disappointment before he asked carefully, "What are you looking for?"

"I have no idea. I have so many questions, it doesn't even begin to makes sense in my mind. Like Snape—"

"What?"

"… What?"

"Why do you always randomly bring him up?"

Hermione inhaled. "I don't… know."

"He was probably buried in Hagrid's pumpkin patch."

"Don't be disgusting."

To his credit, Ron genuinely looked alarmed at the idea that he had said something offensive. "I'm not trying to be cruel, Hermione. What I mean is, who else would have made the effort? Snape had no family… well, not that we knew of."

Yes, who indeed?

It was the little things that unsettled Hermione day to day. Odd, random sounds, smells, or items that would remind her of the war. In a way, she could understand the minds of her friends. She had no doubt that they were also taken aback by the little things, but unlike Hermione, they had put all of their efforts into blocking it out.

Yes, she understood the sentiment very well.

Hermione hated to be reminded of school. She used to love Hogwarts, which made her regret twice as bitter. Hermione had never been able to enjoy her seventh year. She didn't even get the opportunity to sit her N.E.. She possessed them but hadn't taken pleasure in the simplicity of studying and the anticipation of waiting for her results.

That had been her reward for assisting Harry in fighting the evilest wizard who had ever lived—honorary N.E. in every subject she had received an O.W.L.

How little they knew her.

Sighing, Hermione decided to relax her obsessive thoughts and do something with her pathetic plants. Picking up her watering-can, Hermione was about to go into the kitchen to fill it when she noticed her blanket was still on the chair. Frowning, Hermione chastised herself for not putting it back into her chest last night right after Ron had left.

Smoothing her palm affectionately over the warm material, she lifted the folded thickness, hugging it to her chest.

Her heart stopped. She clutched the blanket even tighter, too stunned to move.

Panting, the evidence of fear in her breathing felt so foreign that it escalated her speeding heart rate. The seconds dragged on, and Hermione still couldn't break her unblinking stare at the foreign object sitting on her chair.

Comprehending that there was no explanation for the presence of this item, Hermione nervously glanced around her patio and into her empty flat with the tentative movements of someone who believed they were being watched.

She reached out to touch it but cursed at the idiocy of such an action.

It was only a book.

It couldn't hurt her.

Or could it?

Making up her mind, Hermione went inside, locking her patio door against the threat on the other side of the thick glass. She quickly showered and changed, her decision already made on what her next move should be.

She was going back to her old school for a much needed conversation with the Headmistress.

Hermione had thought about taking the text with her, but until she was able to thoroughly check it for hexes, she refused to touch it. She hadn't wanted to just leave it either, but she hoped a few wards on her patio door would be adequate protection.

Someone had been in her home; there was no doubt about that. That book hadn't been there when she and Ron were lounging about last night, and she'd been alone in the flat since then.

At least, she hoped she had been alone… unless someone had deposited the book while she had been sleeping.

The back of her throat went dry at the thought. Spinning on the spot, Hermione Apparated to the gates outside Hogwarts castle.

Midway through her turn, Hermione resisted the urge to send one more quelling glance in the direction of the seventh-year Potions text that she had never needed and therefore had never purchased. Of all things, a Hogwarts text to remind Hermione of her least favorite subject with the word 'FRAUD' scorched into the cover.


TBC

Author's Notes: Written for the 2008 Winter SS/HG Exchange on LJ. Not only was this story enjoyable to write but it was also an added bonus that my recipient, pennswoods, had created some of my favorite HP fan art. Check out her stuff over on LJ!

Original Prompt: 5-10 years after the last battle, a bitter Snape, irreparably damaged by his encounter with Nagini but still very much alive, sets in motion a plan to unbalance the lives of those who left him for dead. His first target is Hermione, who is still haunted by the unfortunate life and violent death of her former teacher.