Snape spent a few days in Diagon Alley, the Order would assume he had gone into his laboratory during his absence, and he needed some potions to show for it. Snape didn't have to prepare himself mentally for his trip back to Grimmauld Place. The beauty of having true allegiance to a cause, is to know when you are working to the betterment of that cause you are doing nothing wrong. Cockily, Snape apparated back to the hallway lined with elf heads. Kreacher was most useful in shifting around the borders of the apperation. As a matter of habit he made his way to the basement door to see how is favorite prisoner was fairing, only to find the door had been sealed. Snape tromped to Alastor's office and had his hand on the doorknob before reigning in his temper. He had to play this carefully, everyone knew of his affinity to the Dark Arts. Snape stepped away from the doorway and went to his potions lab to arrange his new purchases.
At dinner, Snape interrupted the conversation about the nuisance of the paintings; it was, in Snape's opinion, a tired topic. "I see we've finally managed to ensure Granger's proclivity towards the Dark Arts won't make it out of the basement."
Ginny, who since receiving a diploma from Dumbledore a year early, thought herself able to spar with Snape without any repercussions snapped, "Hermione has left for the muggle world, Dumbledore thought it best to remove her from the temptation of magic entirely."
At the opposite end of the table, Tonks snorted, "If we were trying to keep the Dark Arts in the basement we would have made sure you were down there."
No one at the table was able to see how Snape had to force his face to contort into some semblance of indignity. It was subtle, but all of Snape's mannerisms were subtle. 'So the girl is out of the grasp of the Order.' The conversation quickly picked up around him. 'I need to contact Hermione, and after I talk to her I will talk to the Dark Lord.'
The gardens surrounding Hermione's house were her haven for the first couple weeks at home. Her mother's initial enthusiasm for Hermione's arrival had long since worn off and she was left to do as she pleased for most of her days. The odd dinner party, charity event, or filling in for the secretary at the surgery were merely road bumps in her path to complete freedom.
'I want to be free. More than anything in the entire world I want to be free, free to study anything my heart desires, write anything my brain cares to preserve, do anything, see anything, be anyone, know everything. I want it all. I've buried alive since graduation without even the wherewithal to see what was being done to me. No ho, not anymore. I won't let it happen to me again. I can't for the sake of my sanity.'
Hermione took up residence in the carriage house. Her mother refused to let any wizarding 'stuff' into the main house. Reluctantly, Hermione agreed. The Monster Book of Monsters from Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class would do a little more than startle ladies' afternoon tea.
Adorning the walls of the carriage house was row upon row of salvaged wizarding books and relevant muggle works. Yet she hadn't touched them since she had arranged them. A neat scroll of parchment was waiting for her ink to stain its pages. Empty notebooks lined the shelf directly above her desk. Potions equipment from an old set she replaced to have fresh ones for her NEWTs were perfectly arranged on the stainless steel counter. Hermione had nicked the workstation from her mother's kitchen remodel the week prior. Sure, all of the books had been read at least once and the potions equipment was unsafe for volatile ingredients, but that had never stopped her before. The first few days of redecorating she could hardly contain her excitement over being out on her own. The excitement didn't last once the renovations were completed. To continue forward in her studies would mean making a conscious decision to continue down a path labeled 'Dark' by all those she formerly admired. The switch in her mind just wasn't there. She couldn't just turn away from everything she had worked so hard for. Hermione sat in the receiving room for three days straight holding a shard of two-way mirror, watching the door to the house everyone had known her to live in. She hardly slept for fear she would miss Harry and Ron running to break down the door and exclaim 'Dumbledore has made a mistake, he doesn't know you like we do, you would never betray us.' At the end of three days, she gave up. She gave up on her friends, on the life she had made for herself, on the fate of the wizarding world, on her future, on everything.
Once a week had passed, Hermione didn't even bother to protest when her mother took her shopping, to fancy brunches, the salon, masseuse, or sauna. This was her life now. If she didn't have someone to share her wizarding life with she had nothing. If she performed magic in front of a muggle, it was all over for her. The smokescreen she had shrouded her muggle life in would be revealed to the Ministry and thus the Order.
Her days passed slowly. Hermione didn't yet have the motivation to reenter muggle society as an active member. For now, she was comfortable basking in the sun of the gardens. All her attempts at darkening her porcelain skin only resulted in a blistering-sunburn. She didn't admit defeat, but decided it may be best to take things slowly.
By the end of the second week, Hermione was still enjoying the outdoors under the cover of thick shade. She had taken to lying in various patches of mulch in the thick of the wild garden to shield herself from the sun. Even on days London was suspended in fog her skin always managed to show a little pink. The need to be under something was just precautionary to the sun's harmful rays. Hermione assured herself she wasn't hiding from anything but sunburn. Hermione lied on her back, hidden in the thick of the rhododendrons, and couldn't notice the speck on the horizon grow larger and larger. Just through the leaves of the taller plants Hermione was able to fixate on a postage stamp of the sky. The patch of blue blinked black and just as quickly returned to blue. Hermione jumped up.
'An owl? Oh Harry, of course he's had to owl me. He is on the run.' Hermione dashed into the carriage house and up to her room thinking the owl must have been unable to see her hidden under the plants. She flung the window open to let the owl in just in time to see a young man, about her age she guessed, unlatch a small, stained-glass window on the second story and sweep the owl inside. She barely got a glimpse of his face and, in hindsight, could have even been a woman with her hair pulled back.
Her own kind. Living in the muggle world. 'They must be refugees in hiding. Maybe they are just guests of the neighbors. Finally, something to do around here. This won't be difficult. I'll just keep an eye on the house.'
With little else to do to occupy her time, keeping an eye open for wizarding activity turned into a stake out. Hermione was desperate. She itched to practice magic. It was four days of nothing. Not just the lack of any wizarding activity, but the house didn't even hint as to having any occupants. Lights illuminated the windows at the same time every day, and the panes blackened at the same time every night as though on a security system's timer. It was a stalemate.
On the morning of the fifth day, Hermione took up her post under a large oak. From there she had a view of the neighbors' house and the open sky. The first three hours were so mind numbing, Hermione almost disregarded the shadow behind the first layer of clouds as a trick of her under-stimulated imagination, but the shadow turned into an owl as it made its descent. 'Another owl, another owl! If only I can get whoever opens the window to see me, seeing them, they will surely have to make contact to obliviate me or something, anything.'
The owl perched on the root of the tree protruding from the ground next to her and held out his leg. The disappointment of getting no further in the mystery of the neighbors racked Hermione's conscience, battling the elation of receiving contact from the wizarding world. The owl, more snobbish by the minute, would not consent to be waylaid by this apparently insolent girl and nipped Hermione's hand to spur her into action. Hermione slowly took the scroll from the owl's leg just to spite the creature, and held the roll in her trembling hands without unsealing it.
'Damn it all to hell', Hermione thought, convinced this was going to be her summons to face charges for practicing illegal magic while at Order headquarters. She ripped the seal off the parchment and was horrified to see her old potions professor's spidery script.
Mudblood,
I hope this letter manages to find you well. Rest easy, your secret is safe with me.
I have a proposal. You are in need of a mentor and I am in the position to supply. I, like you, had to pick a specialty and am unable to provide my services. A friend is better suited and his location more convenient. This is not an offer you can choose to decline.
Sincerely,
Half-blood.
postscript - Refrain from fixating your energy on the neighbors and do be aware of meeting new friends.
Hermione's initial outrage over being address as 'Mudblood' was pacified when she acknowledged Snape's need to communicate in code and half-truths was fueled by necessity: Ministry owls were likely to intercept the letter. Hermione began to pick apart the letter. 'He clearly knows about the half-way house. Snape despises verbose writing or niceties for that matter. Assuring me my secret is safe has to mean he won't tell the Order. He must have some sick sense of respect for people's privacy not to run to Dumbledore and tell him not only have I been practicing Dark Arts in the basement, I've lied about my place of residence. He has a proposal. Here, just a euphemism for a no negotiations command. The bit about meeting new friends is curious. He knows his handwriting is distinct, so I suppose he did suffer a small bit to sign his name Half-blood. I'll accept his half-apology, Merlin knows its the best I'm going to get out of him.' Hermione's eyes whipped up to the house next door as she read the postscript. 'Hah, they are wizards, and they have some connection to Snape.' Hermione triumphantly rolled the parchment and stood. 'Now what do I do?' She didn't have much time to contemplate her predicament because her mother called for dinner though the outdoor speaker.
Dinner was served in the dining room at promptly half-past five. Hermione rushed through every bite. She managed to stay within her mother's rule of no fewer than ten chews per bite, but her mother wasn't pleased with the technicality. Hermione skipped desert to go not fixate her energy on the house next door from the comfort of the carriage house.
The parchment on her desk was unavoidable in light of new events. Hermione slowly lowered herself into the chair she had been avoiding for the past three weeks and began to compose her response.
Prince,
Your deference is greatly appreciated. Even without given the option, I accept. Do you believe in our education?
Green.
Hermione chose their mother's maiden names to communicate. It seemed appropriately anonymous. Now, for the task of delivering the letter. 'Snape clearly has some connection with the neighbors. If only I could convince one of their owls to deliver my letter.' It was, admittedly, a terrible plan. Owls are notoriously prideful of their duty to deliver letters directly from the sender to the recipient. Hermione dipped her quill in her ink and scrawled Prince across the front. Hermione pounded her fist on her desk in exasperation, 'I need this letter to get to Snape. He is my only contact in the wizarding world and I have no other options'. Hermione's desperation filled her. Before she had time to lay the quill on the desk, the envelope disapparated from her hand. Never had Hermione seen an in animate object disapparate. Even if it were possible to send an object through the same sequence as in human disappartion, Hermione had no idea where Snape would be, and therefore couldn't possibly have visualized the letter's intended destination.
Since the letter was gone, Hermione had nothing between her and the start of her research. It could not have been more perfect timing to have an unexplained anomaly occur right in front of the tools needed to document and analyze it.
What should have been a momentous event, passed quickly, without even a backward glance. The complete and total dismissal of the Order's concerns, her hope for ever being invited back, everything was gone as soon as Hermione plucked her quill up and scrawled 'wandless casting' across the top of her parchment. The subject was relegated to the antics of a temperamental child in all conversations Hermione had overheard at the burrow during her school years. The professors never attempted to teach the subject either. Hermione couldn't dismiss it as easily. The power she just felt intuitively knowing her envelope was safely in the hands of her professor was unequalled in her academic pursuits.
"Is this not the point of magic? To want something to happen and have the power to make it so. Are incantations an aide to the incapable? That doesn't seem logical, many of the Dark Arts texts used chants and incantations. Many of which came from the founders themselves. Perhaps an incantation is a vehicle to access the same capabilities of a more powerful wizard.' Hermione continued to expand, extrapolate, and revise her ideas. She only put quill to parchment when she was sure she could fully represent all facets of the same argument. 'I need to find a way to stabilize my wandless casting. Children are sent to school to control their outbursts. I specifically remember Professor McGonagall telling my parents Hogwarts would stop my magical outbursts all together. So children are sent to school so they learn to channel their magic through a wand. This restricts any magical output from occurring without the use of a wand. Furthermore, it would be logical for a wizard capable of regulating their magic output to discontinue the use of a wand.' Hermione had to pause to fumble around for a new quill; the nib of her current feather was suffering from her enthusiasm.
'Unless the components of a wand could significantly increase the magic's power, conversely the same could be said for particular uses of magic a wand would actually diminish the power of the caster. My wand is made of vine wood and Dragon heartstring. I can't be sure what the vine wood does to my casting, but a Dragon's heartstring is sure to amplify any offensive aspect of spells. Yes! Ron's core is made of Unicorn hair and he always learned the defensive spells more quickly. Harry's wand has a Phoenix feather and his strength was always the Patronus. The wood must be important. Harry's wand is made of Holly; the wood from the Holly tree is traditionally used in chess pieces. I suppose that could mean the wood would amplify the power of any legilimens spell. What if Voldemort knew this and is using Harry's wand to so easily navigate his mind? Voldemort's wand is of the same core, but his is made of yew wood, or taxus, typically used in making longbows. That seems logical since Voldemort's offensive spells are so powerful. The Elder wand is made of wood from the Elder tree and has a core of Thestral tail hair. A Thestral is a omen of aggression and death, so that would support the Tale of the Three Brother's claim the wand can master death.'
The handwriting at the bottom of the page was cramped and nearly illegible. Hermione couldn't fit any more notes on her scroll and was going to have to recopy them into one of her new notebooks in the morning anyways. She opened the French doors of the carriage house and let herself into the gardens. Maybe only an hour had passed since dinner and the sun had just slipped below the stone wall, casting the garden into shadow. Hermione breathed in the sweet scent of the flowering plants, feeling rejuvenated after her bout of productivity. Standing with her arms slightly away from her sides, Hermione concentrated on the breeze moving her vellus hairs, the ebb and flow of the shifting currents as the wind slipped though the garden.
"The best time of the day, is it not?"
Hermione was so lost in the act of tuning all her perceptions out, it took a moment for her brain to realize she was in a fenced and gated yard, meaning no one should be here. Immediately preparing for an attack, Hermione turned to the direction the male voice had come in. "I'd say it's the best part of the day for self-reflection."
"Put your wand down before someone sees you."
The light was too shifty to be sure of anything, much less a muggle to identify a wand. Instant understanding hit Hermione, "You are Snape's friend."
"Using a loose definition of word, yes."
The origin of the voice kept changing, if Hermione couldn't sense his presence she would have guessed the man wasn't even in the garden. Hermione would feel a lot more comfortable if she could look the man in the face. "Come. Sit. We need to talk." Hermione ordered in her no-nonsense voice. The man didn't respond, but she heard the grass rustle as he followed her to a clearing. Manners dictated she seat the guest inside and offer him tea, but like the man said, this is the best time of the day and twilight doesn't last long. She wasn't about to deny herself the small luxury of relaxing outdoors when she had just forsaken everything she had cherished for so long. Following Hermione's lead the man seated himself in the grass next to her. He was close enough to encourage intimate conversation, but far enough to not feel intimidating.
The man turned toward her as he made himself comfortable, his fingers gripped the grass in an unguarded moment of appreciation. He was beautiful. And young. "If I'm to be honest, I expected someone older. Snape said he was raised in the same school of thought I was. Naturally, I assumed he would have to find someone who received their education earlier."
"Severus told me you were interested in the theory of education," the boy paused. Hermione noted her letter had indeed made it into Snape's hands. "Don't you wish to know my name?"
Hermione shook her head, "You didn't introduce yourself. I'm currently standing on a side of the war must people don't like. I figured Snape had arranged this to be anonymous."
"My education wasn't too dissimilar from yours. I was in odd predicaments throughout my schooling. I, too, crafted clever ways to get out of them. That is, of course, in reference to your dealings with a Dolores Umbridge. I, too, don't stand on the side of a war most people appreciate."
His face was so incredibly familiar, yet she couldn't place it. In her mind, she saw the photograph of the man but she couldn't convince her mind to step back and give her the context in which she had seen it. Typical Hermione Granger, cannot see the forest for the trees. "You look so familiar to me. I can't quite place it."
"I am your neighbor after all, we haven't formally met though." Hermione nodded absentmindedly, not convinced. "Before Grindelwald came to power, there was a different school of though governing the institutions of education in Europe. All students were required to graduate with proficiency in all subject matter available. Graduates could then, if they chose, go on to higher level learning at schools or in an apprenticeship to hone their craft. Others could go immediately into the work force and train within their professional programs. Grindelwald didn't choose a specialty; he sought guidance from masters in all areas of magic and became somewhat of an expert in each area. At least as much of an expert as he could, when he was dividing all his efforts. Since then, school boards have feared such broad-spectrum education. Students were able to decide which NEWT level examinations to take; most favored dropping a subject or two to keep their grades up. Not long after, students were able to discontinue entire areas of study. Schools were graduating unbalanced wizards. Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, and to a lesser degree Drumstrang, were producing moderately skilled wizards in one area of study and deep, deep deficiencies in all others. In our era of learning, the average wizard graduates with only four NEWT levels."
"I suppose that make us something of a threat, with twenty-four NEWTs between us, Tom." Hermione stood to leave. "I need to process all this."
Voldemort stood up quickly, "Wait. Books, for our next meeting." Voldemort took off his worn leather messenger bag and held it out as though it were an olive branch. Hermione took the satchel and didn't look back.