Chapter Three: Home Is Where The Heart Lies
Kirkwall, Orkney Islands
Sunday, August 27, 2000
One hundred and sixteen days. Almost four months. And not a peep from the Romanian cell, Malfoy or Greengrass. Hermione despaired in the shelter of her heart. Had something happened to them?
Please, Almighty Makers, no.
She might have been overreacting. After all, sixteen weeks to cross 2,200 kilometers on foot, having to stop at nights and to avoid human settlements as much as possible, even with the speed of a wolf, was stretching it thin. Malfoy and Astoria could only cover approximately 15-25 kilometers a day at the maximum, so it would have taken them at least three months just to get near their target. And then there was the problem of actually finding Snape's cell, which moved around more often than her own. And of course, if they'd run into Death Eater problems along the way, that could have slowed them down even further.
Or, perhaps Malfoy and the others were already here in the U.K. and were just having trouble finding them now that her group had moved off the main island to a smaller surrounding chain to the northeast? Did the tracking spell she'd put on her small, medal Hogwarts Prefects Badge (which she'd given to Malfoy before he left to be sure he'd find them after the Portkey brought them down exactly in the same spot in Ireland where they'd left Seamus' body) even work over water surfaces? She wasn't sure. Maybe they were looking for her and her group even now. That could take several weeks, surely, as she'd covered their tracks well from jump points.
She prayed the dreams would not come to her tonight. Perhaps she'd finally give in and ask Penelope for a philter so she could get some deep, dreamless sleep finally. Merlin knew she could definitely use it. Her nerves were beginning to fray.
"Captain, dinner's ready," Cadwallader informed her. With an internal sigh, she looked out over the horizon one last time before turning and joining her team – family, she corrected – inside the main tent for the day's final meal. As she entered the large, comfortable space that was their temporary home for the next few months at least (or until it became a security risk, whichever came first), the familiar smell of cooking fish lightly buttered and sprinkled with lemon pacified her and brought her hunger roaring forward in an instant.
The gang was, as usual, efficiently moving about to and fro across the wide interior space, helping to prepare for the meal – setting the table up, assuring the cook had all he needed, and someone even went so far as to lower the lantern's shutters to create a gentle, soothing ambiance. Everyone felt secure enough in their current location to engage in such frivolity as joking, laughing, and toasting with glasses filled with white wine as the spells placed outside were strong enough to alert them of any incoming, bipedal traffic from a good distance away and there had been absolutely no indication of Death Eater activity this far north ever.
Hermione approached the chef. "All well in hand?" she asked, marveled by Adrian's "groove" in the kitchen. The guy could multitask amazingly.
He nodded. "Almost done. Go sit and have some wine from Zabini's haul."
She clapped Pucey on the shoulder and they shared a grin. While they'd all been collecting food back in Barnsley, Blaise had emptied out several crates of liquor. Typical.
She made her way back towards the others, still awed by the change in Adrian Pucey over the last few weeks. Despite hating being taken off more "warrior-like" duties for something as "menial" as cooking detail, he'd still put his heart into his work and made the job of Chef Extraordinaire all his. He worked up the daily menus and took constant inventory of their food stuffs, making an appointment once a week to discuss the specifics of their food rationing with Hermione so she'd know exactly what their situation was (and for which she was incredibly grateful). He'd even made it a habit to incorporate delights from the plentiful, vast ocean before them into their daily menu so that nutritionally, they'd all get a little dose of "lean, healthy heart" meat. The light piscine diet was actually a welcome break from the excessive lard, salt and processed junk they'd been forced to consume for most of the time they'd been relegated to the interior of the country.
So far, Adrian had prepared kippers and mackerel, sea trout, steamed mussels and clams, and tonight they were to dine on lobster with mashed cheddar potatoes and green beans (the only part of the meal from the can). Everyone was salivating. Hermione tipped herself a glass of wine and joined in the festivities. When Adrian presented the meal to the table, there was applause, followed quickly by the sounds of hastily cracked hard shell. The conversation around the table flowed smoothly, with laughter punctuating the air often. Down the table, Neville was helping Penelope – his fiancée now – to extricate some hot, cooked meat from a claw, his maimed hand starting to get some motion and shape back finally (Penelope had been working with him on it in a manner similar to Muggle physical therapy). The smiles they exchanged were beautiful, and the once lingering sadness that had taken root in her friend's soul was finally washed nearly away.
Thinking of Neville's happiness inevitably brought Hermione back to darker thoughts about her state of her decided unhappiness. She decided not to linger there, however, for fear of it spoiling the atmosphere. She turned to Adrian with a loud congratulatory toast for having outdone himself yet again, which everyone shared with a hearty "hear hear" and a clinking of glasses.
"You think the meal was good, wait for the next part," Pucey announced a little arrogantly and hopped up to get the dessert course. As he presented it to the table, laid out on a flat metal baking sheet, Hermione's heart was stolen away: warm choc-chip biscuits. She hadn't tasted chocolate in over two years! Freshly brewed, strong Euro-style coffee with real cream (not that nasty powdered shite) accompanied the treat. She nearly wept with joy.
After indulging in the culinary delights of the evening, everyone cleared and scourgified the dishes and started breaking up into groups, based upon duty detail. Stretton and Bradley took first watch, the two former Ravenclaws leaving the tent together talking about Legilimency (Stretton was well versed in the art from his witch mother, whereas Bradley had no training whatsoever, but was eager to learn), Neville and Penelope scampered away (presumably to his tent for a discreet tête-à-tête), and Blaise, Fay and Philip engaged in a three man poker game (both men intent upon wiping the floor with Dunbar, despite the fact she hadn't lost a hand in months). Hermione approached Adrian again with another sincere congratulation. "It was wonderful," she complimented, pressing a hand to his arm and giving him a brilliant smile. "Thank you so much." A little bit of the old, relaxed, happier Hermione Granger came out then; she felt it and let it happen.
Adrian glowed under her praise, and caught up in the moment, he quickly ducked his head down and broke decorum, giving her a small peck on the cheek. She blushed, taken aback, and then covered fast with another pat (this time on his shoulder), more congratulatory words and then backed off. As she turned to retreat from the tent, she caught Blaise's knowing smirk beaming at her. He raised his coffee mug in salute and she ignored him and quickly strode away, seeking the solitude of her own tent, telling herself over and over that the last thing she needed at that moment was a man's interest.
X~~~~~X
It was sometime before midnight when the long-distance perimeter alarms blared through the night loudly, sounding like the echoing screech of a bird of prey, waking her instantly. Hermione jumped up and quickly changed clothes, grabbed for her wand and her Bag of Holding (gripping the former in her hand, thrusting the latter into a pocket in her woolen wizard robes), and rushed out, running a hand through her hair to pat the sticky-uppy ends down.
Zabini was the closest when she emerged. They walked hurriedly side by side towards where Penelope was squatting down in the distance, watching the dark horizon intently. "You send anyone out while I wasn't looking?" she asked in a low tone, stepping in shoulder-to-shoulder, not wanting to put the others on edge more than they probably already were. Blaise shook his head, his face grim.
An intruder then.
"Longbottom, Pucey, Cadwallader – start packing up," she instructed in a loud enough voice to be heard by the gathering group behind and beside them. It was important to get those three out of the way of the fighting, as their individual expertise wasn't in dueling (Neville was an expert in Herbology and Magical Creatures, Pucey was not just a chef but a linguist, reader of ancient runes and a musician, and Cadwallader was a poisons expert), and they'd either become cannon fodder or hostages too quickly.
When the three moved off, she turned to the rest of them. "I want a staggered, wide "W" formation, at least three meters separation. If they come in casting, it'll give them too many spread targets to try to focus on. I'll take point. Dunbar, stay to the back."
Fay Dunbar may have been good at disfiguring and painful hexes (a specialty to keep roving hands off), but that was the extent of her combat prowess. She was a lover, literally, not a fighter, so she stayed away from the front lines. The young woman didn't lack for bravery though having singlehandedly fought her way to freedom from The Madam's House last year to seek out help for those still trapped on the inside. Having been a literal sex slave to the Death Eaters, sold to them under the Madam herself – Phaedra Parkinson and her traitorous, slag daughter, Pansy – Fay knew all too well the evils they faced on a daily basis and didn't ever flinch from her duty. The fact that she also gave the men in their small group some much needed "relief" (in a discreet way) served everyone's purposes. It was true (if not a little repellent) that with Fay "taking the edge" off for the boys, it helped keep the camp from erupting into testosterone-laden violence on a regular basis. And Fay didn't seem to mind; she actually enjoyed having multiple partners, refusing outright to settle for any one man (although Ernie Macmillan had been seriously attempting to court her for a few weeks before his death). But in a head-on fight, she was almost a liability, so it was better to keep her off the grid as much as possible.
Hermione turned to Bradley next, the group's "tank" now that Seamus was gone. Strong in offensive hexes and curses, bulky in body and liking to fight, and with a courage to have landed him in Gryffindor if he hadn't wanted Ravenclaw so badly (he was a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw and took immense pride in that fact), Willem was their undeniable powerhouse. "You're on my right, big guy." He simply nodded, expecting the order.
She turned to Bradley's best mate, the leanly muscled Jeremy Stretton, next. "Take a look for us." Without a word, their Scout hurried off at a slinking crouch with a speed and dexterity she'd never seen before in any other, even Malfoy. For a guy who'd been his House's Chaser in Quidditch, not the Seeker, he was the sneakiest S.O.B. she'd ever met. Silent as a cat, with acute senses and an almost eidetic memory for visual and audio cues, Jeremy was what Professor Flitwick might have called "solution-oriented." Meaning, he thought his way around problems quickly and efficiently. If you needed quick intel on a situation, Jeremy was the man. He also had no problems killing someone from behind. There were times Hermione wondered if he hadn't been sorted into the wrong House in school, as Slytherin seemed more his style. Still, Malfoy trusted him, so she would. Thank Merlin he was on their side, though.
Everyone crouched down so as to make themselves less of a target and waited for Stretton to return.
Across the meters between them, Hermione turned her head and gave Blaise a silent cue with her eyes that he accepted with a simple nod. He stayed where he was off to her left, as she'd wanted. Zabini was a powerful curse specialist, able to use Legilimency even in the heat of battle to throw off opponents. Inciting that kind of confusion amongst the enemy's ranks was a trick of his they'd employed more than a few times to escape a death trap, and she wanted that option available for whoever was coming within range.
Behind and to her right, she spied Clearwater out of her peripheral vision, the woman's wand raised, her severe face pinched as she narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the darkness. Her visual acuity was almost as good as Jeremy's, which is why she tended to be an alternate Scout, when the need arose. That she was the type who would do what needed to be done no matter the cost to herself made her one of the most loyal of her teammates and one whom she could count on to hold the line when a retreat was necessary. She was, by no mean feat, wicked with curses as well. That scumbag, Augustus Rookwood had learned the woman's skill first hand when he'd taken her on, only to die from his nerves literally frying under her wand from the Cruciatus Curse she'd hit him with.
The minutes ticked by, and Hermione could feel the beads of nervous perspiration dewing on her upper lip. She made no move to wipe, however, staying perfectly still so as to not blow their cover with any sudden actions. She tuned every sense forward, hoping to catch a hint of what was coming.
Pretty much simultaneously, she and Blaise tensed up as someone sauntered into view. It was Stretton. "Cancel 'Red Alert,'" he joked, having come from a half-blood background that fully embraced all things Muggle, and was familiar with famous television catch phrases as a result. "Boy, are you going to be surprised. Lucy, they're home!" He was smirking openly, his white teeth gleaming even in the dim moonlight.
From behind him, a large group of people were moving in on their location. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, knowing instinctively who they were by Jeremy's teasing ways, and on shaky legs, she stood to greet her newest recruits.
Her first sight was of Professor – just Severus, now, she reminded herself – Snape. He was walking swiftly, as was his typical fashion, which caused his robes to billow out behind him like a dark nightmare. The rest of his group tried to keep up, but his long legs allowed him to pull ahead to her several seconds before the others could catch up.
"Miss Granger," he greeted, polite despite the obvious frown of displeasure on his face. "So good of you to provide a Portkey and a tracking spell for us." Here, the look became extremely stern, and for a moment, she was transported back to her First Year at Hogwarts, sitting in his Potions Class as he berated the students over and over again for a job poorly done. "Did it ever occur to you, however, that those types of spells are extremely poor divining rods over water?"
Shoot, she knew it. Well, her suspicions were confirmed, anyway. Still, it wouldn't do to rise to the bait Snape had put down, because apparently, he needed reminding that she wasn't one of his quivering students any longer. Plastering an amused smile on her face, she replied as pleasantly as possible. "Hello, Severus. It's nice to see you, too."
The rest of the Romanian cell's refugees had caught up to their leader by then and there were some snickers drawn from her response, but they quickly died off as Hermione looked around him to see who was left of his team. From Hogwarts, she acknowledged Charlie Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Megan Jones, Anthony Rickett, Jason Swann, Oliver Wood, Kenny Markham. There were three men and two women she didn't recognize, however, but their burgundy and black robes identified them as former Durmstrang students (the men only; the two foreign women wore standard black robes with no color striping or lining to help in guessing their backgrounds), and… good Godric, was that...? It was!
"Viktor?" she called out in complete shock, stepping around Snape entirely.
Pushing to the front of the group, Viktor Krum swept down and lifted her in his arms without any effort whatsoever, twirling her around with a joyful laugh. Hermione was too shocked to know how to react, and was utterly stupefied until the moment he put her back on her feet. "Hello, Hermy-own-ninny," he greeted her enthusiastically, his once thick accent now greatly lessened – probably from being around so many Hogwarts folk for so long. "My heart smiles to see you again."
She could only blink up at her former boyfriend - had he even been that? They'd never formally agreed upon an official title for their time together – her tongue twisted into knots.
"Fun though this reunion has been, we shouldn't all be out in the open like this," Snape reminded her, and in a flash, Hermione's senses returned.
"Of course," she acknowledged, all business. She turned to Blaise first. "Zabini, show our guests to the main tent and get some extra chairs out for them." She turned to Willem. "Run ahead and tell the others to expect company, and see if Pucey could whip up something hot for fifteen mouths fast. And lots of tea and coffee. I'm sure our fellow insurrectionists are hungry. Tell him there's a month's off rotation with his name on it if he can pull it off in less than half an hour." Jeremy was next. "Reset those perimeter wards. I want them back in place in ten. And scan for trouble before coming back – sky included." Finally, she addressed Penelope. "You and Neville are in charge of adjusting the sleeping arrangements until something more permanent can go up. Get it done yesterday."
"Yes, Captain," Clearwater spoke in a strong, loud voice, letting everyone know her deference to Hermione's status purposefully. In too many ways, they were all becoming very Slytherin-like, she noted,g as the older woman jogged off to find her fiancée.
As Blaise was directing the rest of the pack towards the main pavilion, she turned back to Severus, who had stayed by her side a moment longer, measuring her carefully with his black gaze. "Admirable," he complimented with a slight twist to his lips and took his leave of her to follow the others.
It was then that she turned completely around, feeling his presence still lingering.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat when their eyes connected. Despite the exhaustion on his face, and the fact that he was leaner, rangier looking and his windblown hair had grown by an inch or two, Draco Malfoy was still the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes upon.
"Welcome home," she murmured, and she was sure he could hear her heart pounding under her ribcage even in the meter or so between them. She tried to keep herself calm, bit back the fierce urge to throw herself into his arms and hug him, trying to remain carefully neutral.
"Thanks," he stated in an even, emotionless voice. Without another word, he stepped past her and followed the others into the light.
Hermione felt her knees attempt to give out, but she stubbornly set them at the last second, keeping herself from slumping to the ground.
Maybe Malfoy had just been tired and frustrated from having to track them all over the British Isles? Perhaps that accounted for the anger she saw simmering in his darkened grey eyes and for the unnecessary roughness in his touch as he'd brushed her arm with his in moving past her. Because the incensed look he'd cast her couldn't have had anything to do with her encounter with Viktor Krum. Surely not.
X~~~~~X
"The Golden Child" Pucey had come through once more and in record time, taking leftovers from the night's lobster dinner, as well as some cut-up and scaled salted white fish and some fresh clams (which he dug up magically on the fly down at the beach) and some pickled cabbage and carrots and throwing it all into a big pot of seafood stew, using the water that the lobsters boiled in earlier as a stock. Using his wand, he cheated and quick baked a few loaves of bread, slathering butter on them and sprinkling powdered garlic on top, toasting them to a golden brown. For dessert, he took the remaining dozen or so chip biscuits and cut them in halvsies to stretch them out. Hot tea and coffee were liberally passed around, as were a few bottles of Blaise's champagne. The newcomers all dug in with hearty sighs of contentment, commenting that this had been their first hot meal in over a week, since they'd left Tulcea and ported over to Ireland.
Unsure how to handle the whole Malfoy incident, Hermione excused herself to help Penelope and Neville in their task, promising to return in half an hour. As she exited the tent, she felt several pairs of eyes upon her, but wasn't sure whom they all belonged to.
She ran into Neville first as he was coming out of the tent Bradley shared with Pucey and Stretton. "What's the situation?" she asked abruptly, tired and a bit cranky, but knowing that the night was far from over for her. Snape would want to debrief her a bit before turning in.
"We've got fifteen blankets, twelve pillows and eleven cots – enough for our team only," he told her a little abashed. "Penelope thinks she can transfigure the rest easily enough. The problem is tents." He looked over his shoulder. "We've got yours, Fay and Astoria's, Penelope and mine, the boys', and Zabini and Malfoy's, plus the main tent. We'll have to share. It'll be a little tight until we can transfigure some more and put the Undetectable Extensions Charms on them."
She sighed, really too tired to do that kind of work tonight. She was also sure from having looked at the faces of the refugees that they were equally as exhausted and would probably be conking out soon after eating. On a time budget, she made an executive decision. "Okay, move people around as you see fit. Just for tonight, let's keep the genders separate. You can have Penelope back tomorrow." She grinned at him, and Neville blushed but nodded. He set off to start the moving of cots and supplies, and Hermione joined Clearwater in the tent she shared with Longbottom. The woman was already transfiguring new blankets, pillows and cots from a variety of clothes and other assorted goodies found within her Bag of Holding. Hermione joined her, and together, they managed to get it all done in a little under half an hour.
Leaving a final order for her and Neville to be sure to cast warming spells in each of the tents to make doubly sure everyone would be comfortable, she returned to the main pavilion.
One look and she knew she'd been right; the Romanian team members were on their last legs. She directed them out the door to Neville to find their cots for the night. Viktor, Malfoy, Charlie and Snape stayed behind. She helped Pucey clean up the dishes and put the food away as Snape began to debrief her on the situation in Continental Europe as he knew it from his contacts.
"The Death Eaters there have fallen into petty territorial squabbling," her former Professor informed her. "The bid to grab power has started right under Lord Mort's nose."
"I'm surprised he hasn't stepped in and squashed that," she commented, waving her wand over a dish and Scourgify-ing it spotless. She handed it to Adrian, who put it away in a rack which he stored inside a Bag of Holding.
Snape snorted in disgust. "He's preoccupied at the moment trying to keep Britain from erupting into all-out civil disobedience against the Death Eater Council and their toady governors, and simultaneously looking for you, his lady love."
The room was suddenly dead silent and no one moved. Hermione almost dropped the plate she'd been holding, feeling her stomach clench up in a tight fist that nearly knocked the breath from her. She shook her head adamantly. "No, Harry and I never had any kind of a romantic thing. He was only ever a brother to me."
"On your side of the aisle maybe," Charlie interjected. "But who knows what Harry thought in his heart."
Her anger came fast and vicious. "Don't you dare talk like that!" Her voice was shrill, her breath came faster, and she pinned Charlie down with the fury blazing behind her dark cinnamon eyes. "You above most others know that Harry was a decent boy. And he loved Ginny!"
"Then why'd he kill Ron?" he challenged, undeterred by her rage. "The first thing he did when he became Lord Mort was kill my brother. I think it's because he knew you liked Ron. He wanted the competition out of the way."
Her temper hit the roof. She nearly let fly with a scathing, blistering retort when Viktor interrupted in his broken English, his tone attempting to sooth. "Hermy-own-ninny, do you have new idea in your smart brain? I think you do. I know that look vell."
Just like that, her anger slipped away, replaced with embarrassment. She turned to hand Adrian – who'd remained quiet this whole time - the plate, and picked up the next one, waving her wand over it.
"Actually, I've thought about it a lot, and I think I finally do know the reason," she admitted, hiding behind facts to cover for her emotional ineptness. "Look, we all know the Dark Lord isn't really dead, right? His physical body was destroyed two years ago, but his spirit got trapped inside the same body as Harry's - along with the spirit of that snake of his, Nagini. That melding of the three personalities became Lord Mort." She kept working on cleaning up the dishes and utensils and glasses, talking as she moved, grinding away at the data in her head. "But what if… what if Harry's really not completely sublimated by Voldemort and Nagini's personalities? What if Lord Mort isn't 'complete' because Harry's personality is still very much aware and is fighting back?" She turned to look at them all, lingering a moment on Malfoy, who was contemplating her words carefully. "I know Harry, and if there was even a chance he could have fought back against Voldemort's possession of him, he would. He'd never give up." Here she looked down at the plate in her hands, not really seeing it, instead seeing her wavering, dim reflection in its white ceramic surface. "But it's been two years. That's a long time to fight against two strong anti-personalities – especially if they keep tormenting you with the idea that you were responsible for killing one of your own best friends."
"Holy shite!" Charlie exclaimed, sitting up, his eyes widened to the new possibility. "It makes sense. It could also explain why he hasn't really moved on you over the last two years, despite vowing he would."
Hermione nodded. "It further accounts for why the Death Eaters have been able to run so rampant with power for too long, and why there is talk of open war with their master. Up until recently, I think Lord Mort's been an absentee ruler, so to speak. That he's been so busy struggling within himself – struggling to keep Harry back - that he could only occasionally take time away to play dictator." She cleared her throat nervously. "I also think that Voldemort is winning now. Something changed to tip the scales in his favor over the last few months, although I don't know what that change was. But I bet it's why Lord Mort has renewed his vow to kill me and has begun to seriously look for me now. He knows that if I'm killed – especially at his own hand - it will weaken Harry… maybe even to the point where he'll completely give up fighting. Voldemort would win possession of the body then."
Everyone was silent again, contemplating what she'd just said.
It was Snape who shattered the ice this time. "An interesting theory, but only just that," he pointed out bleakly. "Do you have any proof?"
Hermione swallowed. It was time to fess up. "I… I've been having… dreams. For the past few months. They've gotten worse recently." She stared at the floor, flustered. "Harry's in all of them. And they don't really feel like dreams. More like Legilimency - the same pressure behind my eyes, the same headaches when I wake up." She refused to look at Malfoy, afraid she'd seen anger again. Instead, she looked down at the plate, letting it hold her attention.
Snape's spine straightened and he drew to immediate attention. "Describe the dreams."
She handed the last dish over to Adrian and came to sit on the bench next to Charlie, facing the other men. Clasping her hands in front of her on the table, she tried to quell the shaking in her limbs. "They always start out the same – my first day on the Hogwarts Express, when I was introduced to Ron and Harry. Our first conversation plays out in its entirety. I'm watching it all - not from my own eyes, though, but from a seated position across from Harry, where I have the entire view of the car and the three of us. There's an… innocence to that moment; I can feel it poignantly, and it makes me want to cry. Somehow I know that this is not my feeling, but Harry's. When I look across the aisle, he's watching Ron and me intently." She swallowed, wishing she'd had a cup of coffee right then to help warm the back of her throat. "There's a blurring at that point, and I can feel my memories tugged around. From then on, the dream always changes, jumping from one memory to another. They're always of Ron, Harry and I, never any of my interactions with anyone else in my life. And, I'm always sad after viewing each memory. But it's that same detached sadness – as if it didn't belong to me but to someone else."
She sighed and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I'm not sure if I'm making any sense, but I just… I know that it's Harry in my head. That's what makes me think that maybe he's not exactly 'dead' in Lord Mort's body after all."
"Does Potter ever talk to you directly in these visions?" Snape asked, his voice strangely soft and considering.
She shook her head and dropped her hands. "Never. But, even thought I can't explain it, I just know it's him." She held a hand up to Severus. "And before you say it, I know that Harry never was very good at Occlumency, and he never learned Legilimency formally. I can only account for his abilities as being somehow 'borrowed' from Voldemort's consciousness." She wet her lips and cleared her throat behind her hand. "I think… no, I'm almost positive that Harry's poking through my memories when I'm asleep because that's the easiest time to get at me. My mental defenses are down, so it wouldn't require a lot of magical effort to break into my head." She locked gazes with Snape. "And I think he's doing it because he needs something to hold onto. He knows he's weakening. He's close to losing."
Everyone was quiet as they absorbed all she'd said, her conviction in the rightness of the information. The only sound in the domed, fabric room was Adrian's shifting in the background, as he prepared to leave the main tent for the night, having finished up kitchen detail completely.
Snape stood, pushing back from the table. "It's late, and you look exhausted, Miss Granger. Now might be a good time to adjourn." He adjusted the sleeves on his robes, not looking at her, and she knew from past experience that he was feigning disinterest. There was a glimmer in Severus Snape's liquid black eyes that made her wonder, just for a moment, if he hadn't taken up his previous role as a double-agent…
She rose to head off to bed, thinking she wanted nothing more than to sink her head down on her pillow at that moment and escape to the blessed darkness. The men at the table all stood in the old fashioned ways in automatic response and she couldn't help but smirk in amusement. "Neville will show you to your cots, gentlemen. He's in the second tent down. Good night."
She had to pass Malfoy on the way out, and she could feel his heated stare as she kept walking, refusing to look at him. Whatever his problem was, she was too tired to wrestle with him at that exact moment. Tomorrow, she'd corner him and demand an explanation for his rudeness.
Unzipping and untying the large tent's opening, Hermione pressed in, shutting everything up after her. On cots in her sleeping area were Megan Jones, Astoria Greengrass, and Fay Dunbar. That meant that Clearwater and the two unknown Durmstrang women were in the tent she normally shared with Neville, and the men shared the remaining three tents, at four and five a piece. It would be uncomfortable for the guys, but it was only for one night.
With only enough mind to remove her robes and shoes, Hermione threw herself down on her cot, snuggled under her blanket and was out cold in less than half a minute.
TO BE CONTINUED…
