If no good deed goes unpunished, then Hermione must have done a lot of good for this. As she lay in the wet grass choking on air the world was coming into view for her, but slowly. Hermione sat up to get her bearings and struggled against the ache in her ribs. To her left, a flock of sheep stood. They grazed without care on the sloping hills, their only boundary a low wall of yellow stone and wooden gates, and at the edge stood an old oak barely clinging to life. The hills rolled on as far as Hermione could see. Gold shimmered through the far west edges of the clouds and promised warmth. A faint sprinkle had started up over her.
To her right the outstretched pale hand of Severus Snape lay open as if reaching for her. His sallow face took the gentle kiss of the rain without a flinch, and one could think he was sleeping peacefully. Hermione felt herself start at the sight the once proud professor lying in the grass so disheveled and limp. With sudden urgency, she crawled to his side to feel at the clear side of his neck. Once she'd searched for a pulse Hermione's shoulders slumped with relief. His pulse was steady, but weak. She had to get help.
Hermione looked around as if expecting to see Madam Pomfrey in the dale with them. She swallowed the lump in her throat and realized she was alone. Snape was unable to help her now, and for the most part she had no idea where they were. And now, Hermione realized, she didn't have her wand. She patted around the long grass for the familiar stick of wood to no avail. When Hermione looked up, she could see a dark figure on the horizon on horseback approaching them swiftly. She could hear the distant drumbeats of the the horse's hooves that matched the speed of her heart. Hermione stood not because she felt confident, but because she had to.
The rider's horse leaped the fence with ease, scattering the sheep around the pasture. The flock bleated their complaints but the figure on the horse seemed to take no heed. In his left hand were the leather reins, and in his right was a long cane with a crook on the end. He wore a simple woolen cloak and canvas breeches, but they were an old fashioned type. His faintly dirty shirt had a cord tie at the top in a peasant fashion she'd seen on various ghosts at Hogwarts. The canvas breeches the boy wore had leather for the seat and hips of the pants; even more distinct, it was obvious handmade quality. Where Hermione once thought was a man now sat a boy closer in age to Ginny, or even Fleur Delacour's younger sister Gabrielle. He eyed Hermione with guarded suspicion and tried to peer around her at the figure on the ground.
"This is private land, no trespassing. Your name," commanded the boy with a surprising amount of authority. From the center of his reddish skinned face were dominating blue eyes that peered out from under a mop of curly brown hair that reminded her of Harry's hair. Hermione tried to keep her resolve from wavering. If only she had her wand! But this boy was obviously a Muggle, so she couldn't do magic anyway. She sucked in a breath and steeled herself.
"H—Henrietta Good."
"And him," the boy said, flicking his cane's end toward Severus' body. "Get him up."
"I can't, he's been injured and we're…lost. We need help," Hermione pleaded. She stepped aside to show the boy Severus' waxy face and ruby red neck. The boy's hand jerked the reins back and the horse snorted while taking a few steps away from Hermione.
"B-By God!" The boy crossed himself and muttered a quick prayer. "What happened?"
"Please, he needs medical care—can you take us into town?" Hermione begged again. The boy leaped down from the horse in a swift spring into the grass, and that's when Hermione noted his shoes. They were leather, and their shape was pointed with a low heel at the back. Across the top was a brass looking buckle that needed a good shine. The boot didn't go up very high itself, but the laces were mismatched and also the same cord that the boy tied the top of his loose shirt closed with. She'd seen a design like this before.
Luckily, the boy seemed to not notice her staring at his feet as he passed Hermione to get a better look at Severus. The boy chewed the ends of his chapped lips while glancing between Hermione, the horse, and the storm that was growing ever closer from the east. Had the sky gotten even darker?
When the boy noticed Hermione shivering against the rain, he took pity on her and removed his mantle to wrap around her jumper. It was musty like sheep but it blocked out most of the wind that was creeping over the hills. Compassion was evident in his face as he sighed. Hermione was sure now that he was no older than fifteen, at best. The sun-birthed freckles from time outside sprouted up over his nose like blossoms in a field. They folded when he scrunched his nose with displeasure at the sight of the bloody mess ringing Severus' neck and collarbone.
"What…what happened?" the boy asked, his eyes wide in fear. He looked wild and like a country bumpkin, and up close Hermione felt like this was all a little too much for the young man who was obviously not like her. He was not used to the things she'd seen and the places she'd been. A creeping fear was building in her gut that she was trying to ignore like it wasn't true, but Hermione decided she was going to play blind until she could no longer. Somehow the boy hadn't made a comment about how Hermione looked so she took the opportunity to wrap the cloak around herself to hide her clothes.
"T-there was a, uh...a dog. A big, black dog attacked him. It had glowing red eyes and was almost as big as you," Hermione said, looking him up and down for effect. The boy crossed himself again in fear. Thankfully, he was the superstitious type, and Hermione could use that after having read that there were Muggle legends of large black dogs that roamed marshes in England. She knew that when she got into town she was going to have to explain why the bites looked more like needles and less like the ripping effect a dog bite could have. She remembered when Sirius had mistakenly latched onto Ron's leg during their third year in his Animagus form while trying to attack Peter Pettigrew. Hermione didn't miss the irony in how Severus came to her and Harry's aid. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The boy couldn't seem to decide whether to grab Severus or not. When he finally stooped down to grab at the shoulders of his body, Hermione felt her throat squeeze with words of caution and delicacy. But she had nothing to fear it seems, as the boy made sure to support Severus' head with his chest. As the rain began to pick up and trickle down the face and shoulders of her new guardian angel, he looked up at her through the falling drops at her expectantly. She stumbled her way over to Severus' legs. It felt foreign to touch him. Severus seemed to always have an invisible wall up to protect himself from everyone else. To be so close felt like a breach of student-teacher relationship, though in truth, it had been a long time since there was even that between them. Since the war, they'd effectively been enemies.
Hermione felt her muscles protest in exhaustion. For her, a battle had just happened not too long ago that she hadn't even rested from. She feared she would drop Severus' limp legs as both her and the boy heaved Severus onto the aged saddle of the horse. He lay awkwardly against the neck as best as the pair could maneuver, and Hermione feared death would take her only help before they could get him into town. That's when Hermione caught another waiting gaze from the deep blue eyes of the boy.
"What?" Hermione felt herself snap defensively. The boy gestured toward the horse.
"You have to get on first, hold him in place. I'll get on after. Rachel is a pure cold-blood Clydesdale, she'll hold us all," he said with confidence with a new glance at the storm rolling in overhead. He patted the rump of the chestnut mare affectionately and looked toward Hermione again as if that solved everything. Hermione shook her head frantically.
"N-No, I can't ride," Hermione retorted, her fears getting the better of her. She didn't have to trust books the way she had to trust something that would carry her. She hated brooms, hated Threstrals, and a horse was honestly not much better. The boy gave her denim pants a confused look.
"But you got men's trousers on…you cannot ride?" Hermione felt herself starting to fold like a house of cards under the pressure. She shrugged her shoulders with a shiver and he gave her a fully exasperated look now. "Come here, then," the boy said with a leap up onto the tall horse. Rachel, the horse, had to rebalance to her new load and gave off an annoyed whinny. Hermione felt herself recoil, but the boy held down a hand for her to grasp. It had large calluses and the fingers were broad. It engulfed her palm with ease to pull her up. She wobbled as the saddle tilted a little back and forth, but the roar of nearby thunder served as a reminder that Severus was running out of time.
Before she could even figure out how to swing her leg over to ride forward facing between the boy and Severus, the horse's master was sending his mount back into the center of the storm. Hermione gripped at the horn of the saddle while trying to keep a free arm around Severus' torso. Hang on, Professor. Hermione willed herself to lean into the gallop, wrapping the long edges of the cloak around Severus' limp form, too. Just hang on.
At the gate, the boy behind her did not leap over it as she feared but used the crook of the cane to pull the gate open with a firm heave. The sheep bleated behind them in protest of the rain. With a clear whistle that pierced Hermione's ears, a shaggy collie rounded the corner of the open gate and leaped into the sea of white bodies with enthusiasm.
"Take them home, boy! G'on!" the master called, and the collie started its task of moving the sheep from the gated pasture toward a structure that had come into view from the top of the hill as they followed behind. There also sat a small stone home not unlike the cottage that Bill and Fleur Weasley lived at, the same one where Dobby was buried. Behind the house stood what looked like a barn made of stone as well, in the same yellowy bricks that edged the fields. Inviting smoke rose from the stubby chimney near the center of the roof and promised fire within, but when Hermione realized that they were riding toward the house, her stomach began to seize up again. No, no! Severus needed real medical attention!
"S-sir, we need to go into town—"
"Town is too far. My sister's husband can help you," the boy said, leaning into Hermione's back to crack the reigns once more on Rachel's neck. Hermione felt her face stiffen and blessed her stars that the young man behind her didn't see the expression of pure disgust. So this was how it was going to go; she would be denied medical attention because of her skin, most likely. Hermione stared into the black expanse of Severus' robes and wished she were different.
It had been a long time since she'd been seen for her color. The cool black of her skin, not rinsed in gold like fashionable African queens but in a wash of pale silver, had only ever really been noticed for a very short time in her life. Hogwarts wasn't stranger to black people; Dean, Jordan Lee, Blaise Zabini of Slytherin—black students weren't so rare in magical England. Blood purity was more important, but like in the case with Malfoy's harassment against her in her second year, Hermione knew that there were the right kind of black kids and the wrong kind, too.
It was during her fourth year when Viktor Krum took a liking to her that she suspected he just fancied her 'exotic' look, but then found out that he liked her because she didn't make a big deal about his position on some silly Quidditch team. If everything was the way Hermione believed, she was going to have a much harder time getting where she needed to be: witch or not.
Hermione braced herself against the wet fabric of Severus' robes and wished for once she could just melt away with the rain. She was far too tired for all of this. Hermione felt Rachel pull and jerk as the boy behind her brought them to a halt in front of the house. With another piercing whistle, the boy jumped from the tall saddle with ease and lead Rachel under an overhang of the porch to protect Hermione and Severus from the rain. As he was helping Hermione down, a woman with the same curly hair pulled back into a wispy coil and wrapped in a thin cloth of maybe linen or muslin peered around the doorstep, her eyes guarded against the scene, and her hands gripping at something hidden in the folds of her plain grey skirt. She had the same brilliant blue eyes that seemed to leave a fire of its own on Hermione's face.
"Gideon! What in God's name are you doing?" Her voice was a low boom that felt like the storm overhead. Gideon, the boy now trying to gently pull Severus from the saddle, ducked his head with embarrassment.
"Mum, I found them in the pasture, they're hurt—" Gideon tried, revealing the revitalized blood at Severus' neck. Without warning the woman's face matched Severus' pale tone until it bloomed a sick green, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. When she lifted that hand to her face Hermione could see the hilt of a small dagger on the belt of the woman. She gave Hermione a cursory glance that made her spine freeze.
"Girl, hold the reins. We'll get him inside," the woman said, rushing to Gideon's side as Rachel began to move around uneasily. Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief…but there was more to do. She toddled forward, afraid of Rachel suddenly lashing out with her front hooves as she tenderly took the reins in her hands. Her cold fingers made gripping the leather straps a fumbling chore, but when she was able to grasp them tightly she pulled forward on Rachel's bit with just enough pressure to keep her from backing away.
Martha half-climbed into the saddle as she took Severus' shoulders in her arms. Gideon worked slowly, pulling and guiding his limp body off of the horse with as much force as he dared. In one motion, Severus was down in their arms and carried swiftly into the house and out of the unforgiving rain that had started to wash down over the three of them. Hermione now leaned her back against the house, overcome by the rain and her exhaustion. Rachel didn't seem to mind the rain anyway.
While Hermione was promising herself just a quick rest, she could hear the approaching slush of the wet earth moving past somebody's feet. What now? Hermione looked up from under the hood of the mantle and saw Gideon draped in a dry new cloak, pushing back his messy hair with one hand as it dripped. He extended one hand out for Hermione, and she passed him the reins. His hand was still as warm as summer. Gideon clicked his tongue and Rachel obediently followed him toward the barn. He glanced over his shoulder conspiratorially at Hermione. Gideon motioned for her to follow, and although she dreaded another walk through the rain, she relented under his watchful stare.
"Mum and Timothy are goin' to do their best," Gideon promised. "My mum said she's worried he won't be able to talk for a while. I heard her whispering it to Timothy."
"He doesn't need words," Hermione panted, trudging through the rain as Gideon guided her listless amble through the yard. "He's perfectly capable without them."
"Somebody is going to have to explain you two," Gideon reminded in a low voice. Hermione tightened her lips. Yes, someone would, and it would probably be Hermione. She followed Gideon back into the house, then into the master bedroom where Severus was a sopping mess in the middle of a sagging bed as Timothy leaned over him with a lamp. Martha was there with a cloth to her mouth, and Gideon rushed forward to assist with light.
Nobody seemed to notice that Hermione was there until a young woman passed into the room with a bundle in her arms. The young woman wasn't much older than Hermione, and it was clear she was related to Gideon with the strong icy eyes and curled mess of rust colored hair. When she poked her head in, Martha seemed to seize up.
"Sarah! Get the baby out of here!" Martha exclaimed, then passed a look over Hermione. Was it distrust in her eyes, or just disgust? "T-Take the girl with you," she added in a more even tone, reaching forward to push her hand on Hermione's shoulder toward the door. In a whirlwind, Sarah and Hermione were suddenly standing outside the bedroom that serviced as a makeshift infirmary, the door closing with a firm click of the latch. Exhaustion left Hermione and panic took its place, but Sarah was ready with a kind smile.
"Don't worry, Timothy can handle anything," Sarah said, bouncing the baby in her arms. She kept her face close, protectively peering over the swathing of fabric at Hermione. Sarah seemed to drink in the color of Hermione's skin with every passing glance. "Your master will be fine—"
"He's not my master," Hermione felt herself snap. Sarah pulled back in shock at her outburst. Bashfully, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't really know myself right now, forgive me."
"I...apologize," Sarah said, straightening herself and motioning to the dining room table behind them that Hermione had missed in her rush of hurry to see Severus. "Let's sit. I'll make tea."
"I'll do it," Hermione said with a glance at the baby in Sarah's grasp that gave off sleepy babbles. As Hermione fumbled to drag the heavy kettle of pewter over the fire on an old swinging arm, she soaked in the warmth of the fire as it started to burn away the cold. Sarah followed the shape of Hermione without subtlety, gawking at her. Hermione tried to drag the cloak provided to her by Gideon in further to cover up her clothes. She knew questions would come soon.
And what could she say? Hermione felt the heat on her hands as she reached deeper into the fireplace with the poker and dragged them across the embers. It was already assumed she was his slave. Should she have said otherwise? It might have been easier to explain. But rather than the soft clearing of a voice, a clattering bang of a door punctuated the silence behind Hermione. She whirled about to see Gideon wiping at his hands and shoving red rags into a bucket that he hastily took to the door. He meets eyes with her almost as if he'd forgotten she was there.
"Sarah, could you bring Henrietta something dry? Give her one of my shirts, too," Gideon said while he rubbed at the blood drying under his fingernails. Sarah gave him a reproachful look, but then drew herself out of the chair and took the baby with her to a back room. He watched her until she was gone and then rushed in close to Hermione, his eyes alight with meaning and secrecy.
"We can't talk right now-it's not safe to leave the house past dark anymore. If you meet me tomorrow morning near the field, we can speak then," Gideon promised while returning to the bucket. With a sharp wrench of the door he steps out into the storm to wash the rags. Sarah returned then with the clothes and a tight look on her face.
Without any other explanation, Hermione took the heavy but dry skirt and plain shirt into the other room, a small bedroom that probably housed Gideon. With a quick glance around the room at her surroundings, she swallowed her guilt as she ripped a few pages from the back of a well-worn bible and a leather belt that hung from the bottom post of the bed. Once she'd changed into the loaned ones, Hermione hid the belt under her skirt and the pages in her bra. She brought the clothes back out to Sarah sheepishly, who was hanging Severus' robes on the mantle. Her heart skipped a beat; could his wand still be in there?
Hermione spotted the iron poker standing beside Sarah's feet and when she brought the wet clothes over to her, Hermione conveniently kicked the poker just hard enough to send the metal toppling into the embers. It started up a spark that caused Sarah to yelp and pull away-just far enough that the robes she was trying to hang fell into a heap at her feet. Hermione stooped to collect them, feeling the inside pockets briefly as they were on the floor and she slipped the thin wand in the waistband of the loaned skirt. Such usefulness, Hermione thought, marveled at the hiding capacity of a wool skirt.
"Careful, girl," Sarah grumbled as she reached into the fire to grab at the iron poker before it got too hot. Hermione did her best to look apologetic and did her part by pulling the now whistling kettle from inside the blistering fireplace.
"My mistake," Hermione offered while she poured tea into the waiting mugs on the table. Now, it was her turn to wait. As the girls sipped their tea, Sarah would try to gently question Hermione who was going to continue with her convenient amnesia. Timothy was a little harder to convince once he'd come out to inform Hermione that Severus would live, but otherwise he didn't pressure too far. Gideon stayed his distance however, the only promise of help was the tentative plans for the morning.
When the family had retired for the evening into their respective rooms, Hermione settled in by the dying light of the fire with Severus' wand in hand. It was crisp and neat, much like the man himself. The wand chooses the wizard indeed. It worked surprisingly well for her and the wand responded with seemingly abject efficiency. When she completed turning the pages and belt into their final form, they were a nearly perfect facsimile of identification papers from the era-complete with age, wear, and names. She slipped them each inside their drying clothes for convenient 'finding' later, either by herself or any other nosy hands.
That night, she fell asleep in the large armchair beside the fire, but at nearly dawn, Hermione was woken by the gentle hand of Timothy leaning over her. Hermione started to rise but he pressed a firm finger to his lips and gestured to the room behind him. They moved the old table chair from the head of the dining table into the plainly decorated bedroom where she was allowed to stay. In the low candle light, Severus' breathing was so shallow she worried he'd stop entirely. In total, they were lost, half-alive, and surrounded by Muggles in what appeared to be a time not their own with only one wand between them. The odds were not looking very good.
"Wake up soon, Professor," Hermione muttered as she tried to wrap herself in a morning seemed like forever away as Hermione drifted back to sleep beside Severus.
Whew! This was a huge chapter, and if you're still tuning in, thank you!
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Love,
T.
