A/N: Thank you to my reviewers so far, I appreciate your feedback. The italicised introduction is taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. More of the story becomes apparent here.

New Beginnings

Chapter 2

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

"My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand.

"It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: but then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

"Kill."

Hermione sat bolt upright, gasping as though she had been running, and as her surroundings swam into bleary-eyed focus, she felt her heartbeat slow, and relief cascaded over her. It was just a dream.

She disentangled her limbs from her bedclothes, damp with perspiration, and got up, crossing to the window. The rays of the sun began to probe gently through the edges of the clouds, bringing the morning. The image of Professor Snape's face, deathly white, his black eyes widening as he had clung to Harry was imprinted upon her mind's eye and nothing she did could erase it from her mind.

Why did she dream of this? Why didn't the images of Colin Creevey's limp body, carried by Neville, appear in her dreams? Why did the peaceful faces of Tonks and Lupin not swim before her eyes, or the wails of misery from Mrs Weasley reverberate around her ears? Was it because Snape had been so misunderstood? Was it because it had been so horrific?

Or was it, was it because she knew she could have done more to help him?

She shivered, but knew it was not from the cold. She wished that she could block out these memories, could forget that they ever happened, but the mediwitch at St Mungo's had refused kindly to perform a Memory Charm.

"If I knew it would be the right thing in the long-term, I would do it," she had said, gently. "But to erase this from your memory would be like picking at a loose thread on a jumper. Erase this, and it will unravel the fabric of your mind. There is no knowing what damage it could do."

She had, however, consented to provide Hermione with Dreamless Sleep in the weeks that followed the war. This had worked to a point, but even Hermione had to concede that suppressing dreams was an unhealthy way of dealing with her memories. So she tolerated her nightly reminiscences, in the hope that time would heal the wounds. For the meantime, however, she was awake, and that was a relief, for she had at least twelve hours of respite from the images that plagued her dreams.

She got up and busied herself with menial tasks; made breakfast, got a shower, washed the dishes, took the rubbish out. She did them all non-magically; she needed something to distract her from her thoughts, to block out the horrors of the night.

Of course, there was something she could do that would stop the dreams. She knew full well what it was, and how easy it would be for her to do, and if she wanted to, she could go right now. But it was only easy in physical terms. Mentally was a different story. But she knew that she couldn't go on like this.

Her mind made up, she strode to the hallway purposefully, lest she should change her mind, and pulled on her coat. Fixing her mind on her destination, she turned on the spot and Disapparated.

She stumbled upon landing as her feet met solid ground; she glanced around. She was standing in a dark alleyway, empty save a couple of dustbins and a tabby cat that eyed the scene malevolently through yellow eyes. People streamed past the alleyway, paying it no attention whatsoever; there was no reason for them to.

She strode onto the main street, commuters jostling her as they passed, and with every step she took, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, but Gryffindor courage kept her feet moving forward, until she reached her destination. She stopped in front of a large window and peered through it, her breath clouding the glass. She could see the figure she wanted to speak to, clad in a green pinafore dress.

"Morning," she whispered, her heart crashing against her chest like jeans in a tumble dryer. "I've come to visit Severus Snape."