Chapter Three - Saviours , extraneus quod specialis
(Saviours, strangers and secrets)
Hermione slept fitfully that night at Shell Cottage. She tossed and turned and tried desperately not to wake the Ravenclaw sharing her room.
She remembered, of course, the painful torture at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange, even in her sleep her fingertips glided over the newly-formed scar on her left forearm. The red, raised cuts that spelt out the word 'mudblood', gouged deep into her skin with Bellatrix's wand. She remembered Professor Snape standing in the corner, watching, long after the other death eaters and snatchers had gone. She remembered pleading softly for death, looking into his eyes, searching for the tiniest indication that he was on her side, that he could help. Her fragile mind replayed the moment that Bellatrix had raised her wand, glory and evil lighting her eyes as Hermione waited expectantly for the flash of green light that would be the last thing she ever saw.
But the green light never came. Instead a golden light, so bright it hurt her eyes, had filled the room. The light was warm, like sunlight on her skin and she was instantly reminded of the beach in the south of France where she had holidayed as a child. She looked up into the light, ignoring the burning sensation at the back of her eyes, and saw a figure high above her. It was a woman, that was certain, for her dark, wavy hair flowed down to her waist. In that moment Hermione realised that the light was actually coming from the woman herself. It seemed to pour out of her very soul. She smiled at Hermione, her palms outstretched and then everything went black.
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"You don't think she's gone a bit, you know, mental do you?" said Ron as the three boys sat around the fireplace at Shell Cottage.
Harry glared at him as Neville's face paled.
"Sorry, Neville" Ron mumbled, his ears reddening.
"It's not completely unusual in the Muggle world, Ron" Harry explained. "They call it a near-death experience. I remember Aunt Petunia telling Aunt Marge about it once".
"Let her rest" said Neville softly. "She's alive. What does it matter what she thinks she saw?".
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Severus sat alone by the fire in his study Spinners End, the glass of Firewhiskey untouched in his hand. He supposed he should be grateful that the Dark Lord had seen it a necessity that he take some rest before the upcoming battle, but sitting alone gave him time to think, to relive the events of the day. He had no wish to remember the look in Miss Grangers face as she crumpled to the floor after the first Cruciatus curse had hit her. He had no wish to remember the silent plea in her eyes as Bellatrix maliciously branded her with that hateful word. He also had no wish to remember his own pain at the hand of the Dark Lord.
Miss Granger had survived the killing curse like Potter had so many years before. Why? How? Potter was saved by his mother's love (he couldn't bring himself to say her name even in his head) but Granger had no magical family. He wanted desperately to know why. He hated the unknown. Speculation left room for errors and if there was one thing he hated it was errors.
He absent-mindedly rubbed at his left forearm as he gazed into the dying flames.