Ever since returning from the Department of Mysteries, Hermione's magic has been odd. It fluctuates in strength, waxing and waning quite unpredictably. It feels darker, too, an undercurrent of something that wasn't there before, something that lurks beneath the surface, growling at anyone daring to look at it.
She stays in the Infirmary at Hogwarts for a week before going back home to her parents, with several batches of potions and a large jar of salve for her scar. The Headmaster apparently blames her accident on an overly eager OWL examiner, and somehow her parents accept it without question. Hermione suspects he's either laced their tea with something or employed the Mind Arts, as her sensible, down-to-earth dentist mum would usually never stand for such a simple explanation without requesting a full medical file and accident investigation in triplicate with proper signatures and stamps.
Sometimes her magic feels like a warm cat in her lap, an embrace, or a woollen throw by the fire. There's a sensuality to it, heightening her senses and making her oddly aware of herself in the shower, in her bed at night. Not all the time, though: the feeling of embarrassment over the large, ugly scar must be purely her own, after all. It is hideous, from near her shoulder down across her sternum to the opposite hip. It's red still, some swelling remains but even she must admit it is a lot better than when she first saw it. Professor Snape's potions and salves have made a real difference, and she did notice that some of the potions tasted a lot better than the usual ones Madam Pomfrey would administer. She'd like to think those are the ones he's brewed specifically for her, but would never dare to ask.
The Ministry raid was a disaster from the start. She should have stopped Harry, Stupefied him if she had to. She should have trusted Professor Snape to pick up on the message. Harry trying to be subtle might have fooled Umbridge but someone like Professor Snape would obviously understand it, probably rolling his eyes at the clumsiness of it. Of course he had to say he didn't know what Harry was talking about or Umbridge would have tried even harder to thwart them. Obviously. Her friends sometimes didn't have one braincell to share between them, it seems. She feels her lips twist into a snarl and presses them together to stop it from forming. It doesn't quite work and she feels rather silly, relieved no one is around to see her.
But still. She was badly injured. She could feel it in her body even if Madam Pomfrey said everything was fine. Harry got through unscathed, more or less, but everyone who followed him to the Ministry was injured and Sirius died. It could have gone much, much worse, for all of them. Wasn't he supposed to be her friend? Was that what friends did, leading others to die for them? It didn't seem right. He hadn't even contacted her afterwards, unless one counted him and Ron sticking their heads in through the Infirmary door when they were heading to the train. She had been half asleep by then and had barely registered their hurried greetings before Madam Pomfrey came by with another round of potions.
Hermione sighs and turns the page in the thriller she's trying to read, or not. Her parents are both at work and she's supposed to take it easy. The day is overcast, she can tell as much from her dad's armchair by the window in their favourite part of the house, the library corner. She wishes she could try out her magic, to see what has happened to it, but can't while at home since she's still technically underage, and there was no way Madam Pomfrey would have allowed her to do anything interesting when she was recovering.
~ x ~ xx ~ oo ~ xx ~ x ~
A few weeks later she's at Grimmauld Place. Harry isn't there yet but Ron and his family have arrived, and Remus is there. The house feels strange to her magic. Something oily is lurking in the corners, in the wards. Something sinister. She tries out a few spells, simple Silencing and Lumos charms, but they don't feel very different from what she remembers. She still isn't closer to understanding what is going on. She shares a room with Ginny, as usual, but the rest of the Weasleys make her skin itch. They're too many, too loud, too obnoxious. The twins are making business plans whenever their mother isn't within earshot, and Ron is trying too hard to get them to include him in their planning.
She thought she had a crush on him. Apparently that was wrong. Ron's not stupid, not exactly, but he doesn't seem to pick up on her unwillingness to be his entertainment when the twins are busy and mopes around the house after her. Her hair starts sparkling whenever he gets too close, and she flees to the Black library whenever she can. Ginny is tolerable but seems to mainly want to talk about boys and the subjects makes her scalp itch.
Remus comes in occasionally, also moping. It must be really difficult for him to lose Sirius again, but she finds his silence almost demonstratively annoying, as if he does it on purpose. The fact that she gets annoyed makes her feel bad, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that he does annoy her.
It's not like her, to be like this towards her friends. Remus used to be someone she liked as a teacher and had compassion for. Rooting around in her bag she pulls out another notebook and her favourite Muggle rollerball pen.
Symptoms after DoM, she writes, thinking a bit.
Fluctuating magic. Irritation. Magic feels different. She debates with herself how much detail she should include, but after all, if she cannot be honest with herself then how can she ever figure it out? Closing her eyes she tries to make sense of what she feels.
Darkness. Increased body awareness. The last part makes her blush, even if it is only for her own eyes.
Annoyed by friends, she admits to herself.
Just for completeness she writes another section with the timeline, noting the changes after she woke up at the Infirmary.
It gives her pause.
What exactly happened to her? Madam Pomfrey said she had been injured but that the injury had healed itself overnight. It didn't seem reasonable. Her own memories of the battle were hazy, probably due to the serious injury. She doesn't feel traumatised by the events, not exactly. She has read about trauma after accidents and war and other such events in one of her parents' medical journals but her symptoms don't quite seem to match.
There was something, though... a deep voice, keeping up a litany of countercurses, mixed with very mundane Muggle curses with a Northern touch. Warmth spreading, from within.
She needs to talk to Ron and Ginny. When Mrs Weasley is occupied in the kitchen and Remus is off somewhere else she rounds them up and pulls them into her room, casting a Silencing charm around the room just in case.
"What happened? At the Ministry?"
Perhaps unsurprisingly Ron doesn't recall much from the battle after they split up, having been affected by some kind of Confundus. Hermione had been with Harry and Neville when they were found by Dolohov, but Ginny shares what she recalls although she too had been injured and missed what happened at the end.
"When we got back though, I remember Pomfrey was seeing to my leg when Snape yelled for her to come right away. They were at your bed for ages. I had to ask Professor Sprout for another pain potion when Pomfrey wasn't around, and then Mum was there."
Hermione frowns. Another piece of the puzzle if what Ginny recalls is correct. Professor Snape never shouts, not like that. He might get loud sometimes but that is different. She wonders what it might mean, and if she might ever dare to ask him.
~ x ~ xx ~ oo ~ xx ~ x ~
There is an Order meeting some days later. People start trickling in. Hermione sits with Ginny, Ron, Fred and George by the balustrade, trying to see who is coming. Tonks grins and winks at them while Mad-Eye stomps ahead muttering under his breath.
She senses him just before the door flings open. Annoyance and irritation, overlaid with a bone-deep weariness. Is it...?
Professor Snape stands just below the staircase and glares at them, silently, before striding into the kitchen. He's clad in black like at Hogwarts, tightly buttoned robes in place, but no cloak this time. Perhaps he still spends his time in the dungeons despite it being summer, she thinks, or he's just very fond of Cooling charms.
The door slams shut behind him.
"Is the Extendable Ear still there?" Ginny asks her brothers.
Fred checks the lines and swears. "No, I think Snape took that one. Luckily we have a backup."
George unwinds the string and they gather around to listen. The twins must have wired it through the ventilation channels as everything sounds a bit tinny, but they can make out the Headmaster and Moody, among others. There is talk about raids and Azkaban and the Ministry, and why weren't they told until it was too late.
Fury and anger surge through her and she doesn't understand why, not until she registers Moody disparaging Professor Snape's actions yet again. The Professor's voice doesn't betray any emotions, however, much like usual.
The door slams open. He strides out and slams the front door shut, not looking back. A faint crack of Apparition soon follows, and the surge of emotions abruptly stop.
Hermione takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She must be linked somehow to Professor Snape's emotions. But how? And, more importantly, how could she get rid of them? Is the magic his too, then? It seems so but it doesn't make sense.
The Black library is of no use. Frustrated, Hermione snaps yet another book on matrimonial binding charms shut, sneezing when the cloud of dust gets in her nose. They are due to return to Hogwarts in a few weeks and she's still feeling her Professor's emotions, at least when he is nearby. Luckily he doesn't appear to live close to Grimmauld Place, so it is mainly when he attends Order meetings and also that day when they were in Diagon Alley for school supplies. He was apparently there too, keeping an eye on them. It makes her feel a little safer, a bit against her will.