Once more she awoke in the base camp of her choosing, the morning light streaming in from under the canvas flaps. Her prison. She turned over on her cot, casting a silencing charm on Ron's horrendous snoring. She had dreamed of her first and last night with Severus Snape. She closed her eyes and tried to recall each and every detail. But her happy memories were soiled with blood and regret. She recalled the night she watched him walk out of his chambers. It had taken her a moment to pull herself from the lingering warmth of the pristine sheets, but she was determined not to succumb and wallow in her suffering. Not while the man she loved was out fighting this war, seemingly by himself. She would be strong for him, even when she felt so significantly weak. He said he left some things on the mantle… She walked over to find a note penned in his hand:
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory...
To be taken and the opportune time and not a moment after.
-S.S.
Beside it was a swirling black liquid that resembled the summer sky of her childhood. Dear gods- he had done it! You're brilliant Severus, fresh tears streamed down her face. She reread the words once more "…not a moment after," she gestated. Of course, it was a stopper of death, not something that would recall one from the other side like the Philosopher's Stone. But how long would it work? What did it entail? Oh, why didn't he leave any notes on the subject?! She held the vile close to her heart, only enough for one dose. It must have taken years to perfect and the ingredients must have been few. Noting the small vile she understood, this had been his magnum opus.
Harry now loathed Snape with every fiber of his being. She had no idea that her friend would be front row center for the death of the beloved headmaster. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood when he uttered the word, coward. He was absolutely not a coward. He should have been revered as a hero. But she would not correct her friend. He needed his motivations as Severus had said. Harry would see, if only after the raging storm had settled.
Severus sent through another image of the Carrows being torturous prats. The two communicated telepathically in the early morning hours to have each other's full attention. Catching a partner off guard during a battle could have drastic consequences, after all. That was why Hermione waited on Snape to initiate so that she knew he was unimpeded. Hogwarts looked absolutely horrid in her visions. Her friends carried reddened, spiteful eyes and sunken cheeks. They stared at the new headmaster with enough hate that it could be administered as venom. You're brilliant, Severus; she pushed back with the image of the peaceful meadow they had shared early in training, you're a good man.
She took a breath then and closed her eyes. Perhaps she had scared him with her use of the "l" word. She did not in any way regret it, but he had not yet voiced his reciprocation. Neither did he seem to want to indulge in the fantasies they had shared before the death of Albus Dumbledore. He was a man on a mission now. A radio broadcasting frequencies that only she could hear. Even if they weren't messages of love and longing, she cherished each word and image she received. Stay safe, his silky voice echoed in her mindscape. She would keep them all safe; she would try.
Once more Ron woke up angry. "Blimey, I'm starving. Why don't we ever have anything to eat around here?"
"Sorry we aren't at your mum's," Hermione bit out. She held her tongue for a moment. "I apologize. Ron, give me that locket. It's putting you in a mood."
"You want it? Take it for all I care!" He tossed it at her harshly.
She fumbled with her catch, placing it uneasily around her throat. "Better?"
"Better, 'Mione," He appeared bashful, his eyes rimmed in purple.
"You still look tired. Get some rest."
He nodded and rolled back to sleep.
She gave a heavy sigh. She did not like the feelings the locket evoked. She was not as predictable as Harry and Ron, grunting and grumbling over the smallest rock in their shoe. She was silent in her crippling depression. Snape is dead… Severus is dead… It called out to her in a lonely voice, her lonely voice, as she gathered kindling in the clearing near the tent. She shook off the creeping sensation as she constructed a fire on which she would make some coffee and eggs. The sticks caught flame with a spell. What is the use if you're all alone? I'm not alone. Your friends will abandon you. They will not. …Your parents abandoned you. She swallowed as she wiped her eyes on her sweater.
"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry stood in a grey sweater, one hand on the opening of the tent.
"I'm fine, Harry," she sniffed.
He sat on a log beside her. "Here, you cooked yesterday." Harry took the pan, "Let me make the eggs." He cracked them over easy in the pan, warming up the kettle on a stick beside the fire. "Scavenged eggs and instant coffee: the breakfast of champions."
"You're a good friend, Harry," she smiled as she wrapped an arm around his back and placed her head comfortably on his shoulder.
Ron now stood, a bit perturbed, at the entrance of the tent. Hermione shifted uneasily. Ronald Weasley still viewed her as more than a friend it seemed and she didn't need that sort of misunderstanding.
"'Morning Ron, how were the nightmares?" Harry attempted a dry joke.
"Awful, mate." He took a seat on a nearby boulder. "I hate that bloody locket."
"Don't we all," Harry stated as they distantly watched the flames lick the kettle.
