Dear Harry

Dear Harry,

Hermione hesitated. A good start. Friendly. Normal. She resisted the urge to chew on her fountain pen. Taking a leaf out of Ginny's book, she'd enchanted the ink cartridge to magically refill itself. Writing had been much more comfortable since she'd thought of that. No more bits of feather getting stuck between her teeth.

Thank you for your letter.

That was good, too. Polite and nice. If a trifle obvious. She halted again and stared out of the window. She loved the view of her new rooms, even on such a dismal day in November.

I hope you are well. I am …

She paused. The cold and wet weather of November was taking its toll. An adult human body numbered exactly 206 bones, and every single one of her bones was aching right now.

I am feeling absolutely rotten?

No. Not good. Harry didn't react well to honest answers. He'd only blame himself if he knew that she was still suffering from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse.

Hermione stretched, winced, yawned, and reached for her tea. She'd picked an invigorating mixture instead of one of her usual calming or soothing draughts today. Mixing the long-term effects of the Cruciatus curse with her insomnia was doing nothing for her presence of mind and she still had the study group of the Hufflepuff Third Years to supervise this afternoon. Thank God it was the Hufflepuffs, and not the Slytherins, or worse, the Gryffindors.

I am …
I still feel …
… utterly shaken?

She shuddered. Shaken. What an understatement. Whenever she closed her eyes she could still feel the weight of his body against hers, the wetness of his blood on her skin. The smell of his blood mixed with the scent of his body. She recalled the way he had looked at her, that dark, desperate gaze. She still wondered what he had seen in her eyes that had prompted him to agree to her request to summon help.

I am still feeling a little bit shaken, which is really not surprising given what happened.

Of course he didn't appreciate your visit. Honest, Harry, what were you thinking? He's still Professor Snape, after all. Although I suppose I do understand why you had to come, and I suspect that he does, too.

Severus Snape was now the only close connection to Harry's parents and Harry's family that was left. He was the only person alive who'd been really close to Harry's parents, in good ways and bad ways. He had perhaps suffered even more than Harry because of Voldemort. And because of Albus Dumbledore, a small nagging voice at the back of her mind insisted.

Hermione recalled an unsettling conversation she had had with Harry a few weeks after the final battle.

oooOooo

"Do you … do you hate Dumbledore? For what he – for what he did to you?" she had asked.

Harry shrugged. Shrugging was still his default gesture. But he met her gaze calmly. The fierce anger that used to blaze in his green eyes, that had kept him going, had almost vanished, drained away in war and death. She remembered how he rubbed his scar – his second favourite gesture.

"Of course not," he said. "Dumbledore did what he had to do. Just like the rest of us."

Then he fell silent, while his gaze grew distant and his lips thinned to a harsh, straight line.

"Sometimes, I guess," he admitted finally. "You?"

She had stared at her balled fists. Hermione remembered that she had visited Snape just the day before that conversation.

oooOooo

"Yes," she whispered, and the sound of her voice echoed loudly in the silence of her room. "I do."

"Sometimes," she added. Propping her elbows on the table, she wearily rested her face in her palms. The skin of her hands tingled almost painfully at the touch.

For example, every time she'd visited Professor Snape in St. Mungo's.

She picked up her pen again and placed it on the parchment.

Professor Snape is much better. Ron's idea to ask Lois for advice was really brilliant. For some reason – we are still not sure why – the Mark behaved just like a Muggle tattoo under the laser beams. They could "scrub" it right off. He'll have some hideous scars left, because Healer Mugwort says the residue of Dark Magic that is still in the tissue would act up again if she were to try and heal it prettily with magic. But that doesn't bother him at all. I think he's just glad that he got rid of the damned thing finally.

"Act up." She snorted at her own words. But Harry would handle that euphemism better than "might make Professor Snape bleed to death within half an hour". She had summoned help just in time. She tried not to think of that. It made her hands shake too hard to keep writing.

The apprenticeship is interesting, although I'm really scared that I'm an utter failure at it. Ignore whatever Ron's saying. He just can't understand that I might enjoy learning all about potions regardless …

"Regardless" was the most unobtrusive way she could think of to refer to The Plan.

And The Plan … Hermione inhaled deeply and tried to suppress the quivering that always seemed to grip her stomach lately whenever she thought of her master.

The Plan was not going well.

The fact that she had saved Snape's life yet again, and the rather spectacular circumstances of the event (which included a blood-drenched nightshirt clinging to her body, Snape barely conscious in her arms, an absolutely livid Headmistress and a thoroughly disgruntled Master Healer) added even more strain to the already tense relationship between master and apprentice.

I'll let you know at once if anything happens.

Give my love to Ron & George. And no, I most certainly won't keep an eye on Ginny.

Love,

Hermione.

There. She sighed. All done.

Just in time to leave for that study group with those Hufflepuffs.

oooOooo