Part II
Disclaimers, etc., in part 1.
Author's note: the flashback continues. I'll resolve the opener eventually! Don't worry... more to come.
The rest of that year had passed without incident... and then had come the summer at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Snape flitting in and out like a dark ghost, barely speaking. She suspected that he had often been there in the middle of the night when they were all sleeping—as much, probably, to avoid Sirius and perhaps Lupin as it was to be in and out quickly; most of the other members of the Order had no hesitation about at least staying for a cup of tea with Mrs. Weasley before returning to where ever it was they had been posted. Hermione enjoyed the days with Ron and Harry, but was surprised to find herself worrying about Snape; watching the door hopefully every time the bell rang, alerted, of course, by the shrieking of Mrs. Black's portrait and Molly stomping furiously down the stairs, muttering "I told them not to ring the bell! They'll wake everybody up!"
Hermione would slip from her room and watch until she'd seen the tall dark form she was looking for, and then, satisfied on some subconscious level that he was all right, she'd go back to bed and wait for Sirius to shut his mother up. She had never been noticed—though once, her professor's tired eyes had raised to hers and his gaze had softened for just a moment before he returned his usual cold look to Mrs. Weasley. Somehow that look in his eyes—almost grateful for her presence—had frightened her more than anything she'd seen yet, and it had taken her a long time to fall asleep again, and when she did the sky was beginning to lighten with the advent of a new day. The meeting downstairs was still going on, and the murmur of voices, though indistinguishable thanks to the charm on the door, was still faintly audible through the ancient floorboards if nothing else, and the sheer length of the meeting didn't help Hermione any.
She was wakened by a soft knock on the door and it creaked open. Grumpily she opened one eye and frowned at the intruder—it was Ginny, with a breakfast tray.
"Hi. Mum was worried when you didn't come down," her friend greeted. "It's nearly lunchtime, you know."
"I didn't sleep well," she evaded. "I kept hearing the doorbell."
"I know," Ginny said sympathetically. "Cause the rest of us did too—woke Mrs. Black up every time."
"Are any of them still here?"
"All of them are. Fred and George are trying to use extendable ears to eavesdrop on the meeting. Dumbledore arrived an hour ago."
"So it's serious, whatever it is."
"Very," Ginny agreed as Hermione picked up the toast and took a mechanical bite. She wasn't hungry, but her friend would wonder if she didn't eat. So he was still here. Snape.
"You okay?" Ginny had been watching her friend intently, and seen something of the concern in Hermione's eyes.
"Just worried about them," she said with an effort at lightness that didn't really work. Ginny eyed her skeptically, but her unspoken question was delayed by the arrival of Ron, Harry, and the Twins.
"Mum must've put a spell on the door. Can't pick up a thing," George groused.
"Nothing," agreed Fred.
"Well what do you expect? There's reasons we're not allowed in there," Ginny huffed. Hermione fell back from the conversation as Harry and Ron plopped down on the bed on either side of her, arguing about Quidditch. She longed to go downstairs. She picked at her breakfast. What on earth was wrong with her? This was Snape she was so worried about. So what if the "greasy-haired git" as Ron liked to call him got himself killed? Her stomach churned at the very idea and she pushed her almost-untouched tray away, where it was quickly rescued before it hit the floor by Ron, who proceed to finish her sausages.
"Ron!" Ginny scolded.
"It's okay, Gin. I'm not that hungry," Hermione assured her. "If you lot don't mind?" she pointed at the door and her friends left the room so she could get up and dress.
Hermione was in the hall reaching for her jacket when a rough hand brushed against hers, retrieving a travelling cloak.
"Sorry, Professor," she said, aware that her cheeks were turning bright red as pleasant warmth traveled up her arm. Snape too looked uncomfortable, and he was eying her hand as though it might bite him as she donned her jacket. The day was cool and rainy, and Mrs. Weasley, uprooted from her vast garden at the Burrow, had some work for them to do in the makeshift, closed-in yard Dumbledore had magicked up for her. Something about weeding potatoes. Fun. Hermione rolled her eyes—she didn't mind helping, especially since there wasn't much else to do, but she didn't mind lingering in the hallway a moment longer, even with Snape. "How... how was the meeting?" she asked. It was tentative—a feeler. She didn't really expect him to reply, but he turned his attention to her, her black eyes boring into hers for a moment as he considered her honest question. They were alone in the hall, Molly in the kitchen serving tea to those who had not left already.
"Insufferably long," he confessed at last, fatigue evident in his voice.
"I'm sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn't mind if you wanted to rest a bit, the rooms upstairs--" she encouraged.
"I can rest when I return to Hogwarts. I must brew some potions for them that will take some time." He glanced at her for a moment, and then as though remembering himself and who she was he donned his cloak and strode through the door without another word. Hermione sighed—for a moment there, Snape had seemed almost human. She zippered her jacket and slipped out to join the others.
"What kept you?" Ginny asked, pulling up a gnome. Weeding potatoes, indeed. She wanted her garden de-gnomed, and it had to be a worse infestation here than there was at the Burrow.
"Snape was just leaving," she answered truthfully, hoping the excitement she still felt from even this brief contact didn't show. Harry and Ron weren't even looking at her, they were busy sending gnomes flying, and Fred and George were arguing Quidditch tactics to use against Malfoy, a discussion to which Harry and Ron eagerly joined in. Rolling her eyes, Ginny studied Hermione as her friend setted to work in silence. Her eyes were bright and she seemed—happier than she had at breakfast, somehow. Intriguing. Ginny sent her gnome flying and settled into pensive silence with her friend next to her. She was curious to see what would become of this.