You fascinated me, cloaked in shadows and secrecy,

The beauty of a broken angel.

I ventured carefully, afraid of what you thought I'd be,

But pretty soon I was entangled.

You take me by the hand, I question who I am.

Teach me how to fight, I'll show you how to win.

You're my mortal flaw, And I'm your fatal sin.

Let me feel the sting, the pain, the burn, under my skin.

Put me to the test, I'll prove that I'm strong.

Won't let myself believe, that what we feel is wrong.

I finally see what you knew was inside me all along,

That behind this soft exterior,

Lies a warrior.

-Warrior, Beth Crowely.


Chapter 13: You're My Mortal Flaw And I'm Your Fatal Sin.

June 1997-London, England.

Squinting at the sunlight, as she exited the airport, Hermione looked around at the bustling London traffic. Finally, after four years gone she was home. Hailing a cab, she stowed the old worn metal trunk that held the few possessions she owned. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, trying to block out the near deafening sounds of talking people and honking cars.

"Yer sure ya want to get out here? Not a good place to be nowadays with all dem attacks happening," the cabbie said, peering out of the window at the nearly deserted street.

"I can take care of myself," Hermione replied, paying the man with what little money she had. Turning out her pockets, she guessed she had enough to get a hot meal, maybe. Retrieving her trunk from the boot, she stepped out onto the sidewalk as the cab pulled away, leaving her in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

It looked a bit more run-down than last she saw it. Entering, she found it nearly deserted apart from a shady looking man with an eye patch at a corner table and a tall dark-haired young man who was talking to the barkeeper in hushed tones. Approaching the bar, still lugging her trunk; more of a metal footlocker than anything like her school trunk had been. The barkeeper broke off from the young man and came over to her.

"What can I do for ya?" he asked, eyeing her up and down suspiciously.

"I'd like some food, but I need to get into the Alley — can you open the gate? Unless you take Muggle money," she said, dropping a couple of crumpled bills and a handful of change on the counter. Tom frowned before pushing the money back at her.

"Go to Gringotts an' exchange it, then come back and we'll see about getting ya some food," he scowled, limping around the bar and out the back. Hermione followed him out into the enclosed courtyard, and he tapped a series of bricks with his wand. The bricks began to shift and move till the entrance to Diagon Alley was visible.

"I'll come back and open it in half an hour; if you want back through then be here by then." the old man said gruffly, as he limped back toward the inn.

"I can handle that, Old Tom. I need to go to Gringotts anyway," the rather handsome dark-haired man suggested, the one who had been talking to Tom at the bar and had followed them out.

"Do what you want," Tom replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, as he entered the building.

The man turned to look at her shyly with a small smile. "I hope you don't mind the company."

"Not at all," she said, walking into the Alley, her companion following, as the arch began to close.

"Where's your wand, isn't it dangerous to be wandering around without it?" he asked, scanning the street. There were not many people out in the Alley, definitely nothing like any of the other times she had come, when the street and shops were packed with shoppers.

"Lost it a few years back," Hermione answered in a clipped tone, not sure why this stranger was so interested in chatting with her.

"Are you— could you possibly be Hermione Granger?" the man asked hesitantly, as he kept glancing over at her like he had seen a ghost. Hermione looked over at him and really looked at him for the first time; his black hair was cut short, and he was very tall with broad shoulders and a kind looking face.

"Who's asking?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously; something about his face seemed familiar, but she couldn't place him.

"Oh, Merlin, it really is you," he breathed out in shock, his eyes going wide, and he stopped walking to face her fully. "We all thought you were dead. McGonagall told us so in third year. Where have you been— Never mind that; you need to get out of here. It's not safe for anyone to be out right now, but even more so for a Muggle-born like you. You have to go," the man hissed, grabbing her arm and attempting to pull her off in a side alley.

A jerk and she was out of his grip in an instant and backing away from him, her hand on the knife at her belt. "I'm not going anywhere! Who are you?" The man looked around to make sure no one was paying much attention to them before lowering his voice slightly.

"I shouldn't be surprised that you don't recognize me, I mean we weren't as close as you were with Harry and Ron," he said, his ears turning a shade of red, as he spoke. Watching him wring his hands together in what must have been a nervous habit, something clicked into place in the back of her memory.

"Neville, Neville Longbottom," she said, causing the young man to smile sheepishly at her. "Wow, you got tall."

"You remember."

"Of course I do; you were the first friend I met on the train ride in first year; remember, I helped you look for Trevor." Neville nodded, his smile becoming broader at the memory. "Where did we end up finding him?"

"Which time? You lost him… what, twice when we were on the train and then again as soon as we got off; I think he was in the food trolly once and fell into Pansy Parkinson's hair another time," she replied, trying to think back to her first time riding the Hogwarts Express." Her answer seemed to please him even more, like he was finally beginning to believe she was who she said she was, "Do you know where Harry and Ron are? I assumed they must be staying at the Burrow, but I never got the address. I suppose Harry could be with his relatives, I had thought of going there first, but—" Her words trailed off at the paling look of horror on Neville's face.

"Y-you don't know? You haven't heard—" he stammered out in shock.

"I just got back to England an hour ago. I haven't exactly had time to catch up on well everything," she said, cutting him off. Something cold and heavy settled in her gut, something was very wrong here. She had noticed the atmosphere of fear laying over the Alley, as people bustled about not stopping to chat with their neighbours, as they moved to do their tasks and to leave as quickly as they could.

"But it's been all over the news for over a year!" Neville said dumbfounded.

"Pretend, I've been living under a rock, what is going on?" she snapped, dread beginning to fill her the longer her questions went unanswered. "Where are Harry and Ron?!"

"I—" Neville swallowed hard before looking around, they were beginning to attract some attention from the scattered shoppers. "Not here, it's not safe. Let's get your money exchanged and back to the Cauldron. I'll have to go talk to someone before I can take you to the Weasleys."

Hermione could only nod; her body was beginning to feel numb with dread, as they made their way to the bank where Neville made a withdrawal and Hermione exchanged her Muggle money for the wizard variant. They had made it back to the Cauldron, when Neville moved to leave, Hermione caught his arm in a strong grip.

"Why won't you tell me anything?" Her voice cracking in confused desperation.

"You should prepare yourself," he said softly a moment before he moved away, as Hermione let her hand fall, and he Disapparated with a crack outside the door of the pub. She hadn't bought any food with her exchanged money; she had lost her appetite, as she sat there and waited, and waited. An hour passed and then another before the door opened and Neville walked in with a stern-faced gray-haired woman.

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, sheathing the small knife up her sleeve she had been using to carve on the table much to Tom's displeasure.

"Oh my goodness," the older witch said, clasping a hand over her heart at the sight of her. "When Mr. Longbottom said he had run into you I had hoped, but I would have never thought I would see you again." The woman seemed to collect herself before turning her stern look on Hermione and asked, "What extra class had you signed up for at the end of your second year at Hogwarts?"

"What does that have to do—"

"Answer the question, Ms. Granger, if you are who you say you are. As far as anyone knows Hermione Granger died four years ago, so forgive me for being more than a little suspicious."

"If I answer, will you tell me what is going on?" McGonagall nodded gravely. "That's a trick question because I didn't sign up for one class, I signed up for all of them."

"Oh, thank Merlin," the Professor breathed out in relief, pulling her into a brief hug. Hermione stiffened at the sudden physical contact and pulled away as soon as she could. "It really is you, my dear."

"See, I told you it was her," Neville said, smiling.

"Well, come along then, we can't talk here, anyone could be listening in." McGonagall remarked, ushering Hermione outside. "Have you ever Apparated before?" she asked, to which Hermione shook her head 'no'. "Well, then grab my arm."


Hermione stumbled onto a sandy beach and would have most likely lost her dinner had she eaten anything.

"It will pass in a moment, you will get used to the feeling, eventually," the Professor said before holding a slip of paper in front of her. "Read this, don't say it, just read what it says."

Taking the paper as the dizziness passed, Hermione read the slip of paper. 'Shell Cottage, Outskirts of Tinworth, Cornwall, England.' Looking up from the paper and around at the beach, she saw a house sitting on a hill overlooking the beach where there had been none before.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked, as she and Neville followed their old professor up the winding stone path to the cottage. "Shell Cottage, the current residence of the Weasley family."

"What about the Burrow?" she asked, having heard tales from Ron and the twins of the Weasley's childhood home.

"Burned to the ground, sad to say," McGonagall said, knocking on the door, as Neville and Hermione followed her up the porch. The door opened to reveal Molly Weasley standing there, wiping her hands on a dish towel and a stained apron tied about her waist.

"Oh, hello, Minerva, what brings you here?" she said, stepping aside so the three could enter the small house.

"This is Ms. Hermione Granger, she went to school with Ronald for his first and second year. She has come to see him," McGonagall said, entering the house.

"Oh, you're—" Molly said before breaking off, "Ron has spoken a lot about you."

"I'm sorry to drop all of this on you, but would it be alright if Ms. Granger stayed with you and your family. She has only recently returned to England today and is not up-to-date on events since her disappearance. Mr. Longbottom and I have some matters to attend to and can not stay" the former professor said quickly.

"Of course she can," Molly said, smiling kindly at the girl who shifted slightly at the attention, as she set her trunk down. "You know my sons, Fred and George, yes? They are around here too, somewhere," looking around like the pair may pop up at any time.

"Thank you, Molly. Good to see you, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said, heading to the door.

Neville followed. "Goodbye, Hermione," he said, shutting the door behind him.

"Come now, dear, why don't we get you something to eat, then we can go see Ron," Molly coaxed, leading the way to the kitchen, where Fred and George seemed to have slipped in and begun eating while their mother was out. Apart from greeting the twins, Hermione was quiet as she ate. Fred and George attempted to question her on her whereabouts in the last four years, but were shushed by their mother.

"I'm sure Arthur and Bill will be happy to see you when they get back out on Order business. It's not often we get guests out here." Hermione just nodded. The meal was over quick enough and soon Hermione found herself led into a living room and up a flight of stairs, to a room at the end of the hall.

Entering the room a bed came into view, there lying with a worn quilt tucked in around his body was Ron. Like Neville he was no longer the young boy she had known, but a young man. He didn't seem to be as tall as Neville, but far broader in build. The skin on his arms and face seemed pale and sickly from months of being confined to bed. His cheeks were covered in a red fuzz and his hair had grown out to nearly jaw length. His eyes were not visible under the layers of bandages covering them.

"He looks like he's sleeping," Molly remarked, seating herself in the chair near the head of the bed, brushing a lock of hair out of his face.

"How long has he been like this?" Hermione asked, finally entering the room fully and tentatively brushing a hand over Ron's, his skin was warm to the touch, and she gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling her hand back.

"Almost three months now."

"What happened?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Molly said simply, her voice laced with loathing, as she held onto her youngest son's hand. "The school was attacked by Death Eaters, You-Know-Who led the assault. Ron and some of the older students had tried to keep the younger students safe till the Order could get there. She tortured him, Poppy hasn't been able to identify all the spells that were used, so treating him has been difficult. He has yet to regain consciousness."

"What about Harry, have you seen him?" Molly was quiet, she kissed Ron's knuckles before placing them back down on the quilt.

Rising from the chair, she led the way out of the room and into the kitchen.

Molly began clearing off a number of plates that had been left out from dinner before sitting at the table in a chair across from Hermione. "I'm sorry, there is no real easy way to say this, Hermione. Harry's— He's dead, a little over two years ago now," she said, softly attempting to lay a hand on Hermione's, but the young woman jerked her hand away.

"No!" she shouted, standing so fast her chair upended, she shook her head in denial, as she backed away from the table. "He-he can't be dead. I-He—" Mrs. Weasley could only watch her with silent pity, as the young woman turned her back on the older witch. Planting her hands on the kitchen counter, her breaths came out in shallow gasps, as she shut her eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. She couldn't believe it, not after all of this time. Seeing Ron had been bad enough, the boy who had come to her defense against Malfoy despite their rocky start, but Harry had been different, they had been closer than she had been with Ron. Maybe it was because they were both new to the whole idea of magic, having been raised in the Muggle world for most of their lives. Ron had been her friend, but Harry had been like a brother, the thought of him being dead — she punched a fist down on the stone counter top. She felt her knuckles begin to sting and burn as the skin split, she punched it again. The pain in her hand dulled the far greater pain in her chest, as she turned to face the Weasley matriarch.

"Who?" she said, her voice laced with a cold fury; she could feel the tears threatening to fall, but they did not. She was not going to cry here, not in front of witnesses, she wasn't going to let them see her weak. No one would.

"Voldemort," Molly whispered with a moment of reluctance, coming to stand before the girl, as she clenched her bleeding fist at her side. The older woman reached out to comfort the girl, the loss of her daughter resurfacing, but Hermione shied from the contact.

"I'm tired," she said stiffly, stepping out of reach. "Is there some place I can rest?"

Molly nodded before leading her upstairs, across the hall from Ron's was revealed to be the room Fred, George and Bill were sharing. "You can have this room; it's not much, but at least you'll have some privacy," she said softly, opening a door next to Ron's. It was small, barely big enough for the cot and her small trunk. "If you need anything, Arthur and I have a room downstairs." Hermione didn't answer, just shut the door behind her. She had barely settled herself on the floor beside the bed before the hot trail of tears began to slip down her cheeks. She sat there in silence, apart from the pained quiet gasps of her breathing, as she let the tears come.


Thunder rolled outside, and George paused on his way to bed, his brother right behind him.

"What?" Fred asked before being shushed, as George held a finger to his lips. There was the sound of a pained cry in between the rolls of thunder.

"That's Hermione, isn't it?" Fred said, moving closer to the door.

"Think we should check on her?" George asked.

"Mother said to leave her be," Fred replied, the pair shared a glance before nodding in unison, and George opened the door to Hermione's room. The door opened with some difficulty, as something slid across the floor. Peering in, they found her metal footlocker had been shoved against the door as some form of barricade. Rather than sleeping on the still made bed, Hermione was curled up on her side on the floor of the room. She was still dressed in the clothes she had arrived in, having not even taken off her worn boots, the jacket she had been wearing over her tank top was cradled in the crook of her arm and being used as a pillow. She whimpered in her sleep, as her nails bit into the wood of the floor, as if clawing at something invisible, the wind whipped the rain noisily against the window outside.

"Should we wake her?" George asked, pushing the trunk out of the way, so they could get into the room.

"Probably for the best," Fred replied, squeezing into the small room and crouching beside her; he had just placed a hand on her shoulder, intending on shaking her awake, when her eyes snapped open. A knee connected with his gut, just as a silent spell threw his brother backwards, falling over the trunk and into the open doorway with a yell. George climbed to his feet to find Hermione lying on her back, Fred on his back on top of her; her arm locked around his neck. Fred let out a choked gasp, as he tried to pry the arm off his throat, which only caused her to tighten her grip.

"Let him go!" George yelled, jumping back over the trunk and grabbing for Hermione's arm. She kicked him in the shin, dropping the twin to his knee. "Hermione, let him go, you're choking him!" The sound of her name seemed to draw her out of her dream, blinking she realized what she was doing and released Fred like he was on fire.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she panted, scooting away from the twins till her back was against the wall under the window and half tucked herself against the bed. Molly and Arthur came running into the room, wands drawn. Hermione looked completely mortified at what she had done, as George held on to Fred who was gasping and coughing. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

"What happened?" Arthur demanded, looking from the distraught witch to his sons, as Molly kneeled in her dressing gown to check on Fred.

"I'm sorry, I— Oh Merlin. I was dreaming, I didn't mean to hurt him. I'm so sorry," she said, burying her head in her knees and wrapping her arms around herself. "I shouldn't have come back."

"I-it's fine," Fred coughed, massaging his throat before, "it was an accident; I shouldn't have tried to wake you up like that."

Hermione shook her head, looking up at the Weasleys. "Not an accident," she said, tightening her hold on her knees and looking down at them, "a reflex." The storm raged on outside.


Hermione did not join the rest of the house until lunch time; they were just finishing lunch, when she entered the kitchen to find the majority of the Weasley clan present. The room went quiet at her appearance, and she sat down at one of the empty seats. Molly placed a plate that had been set aside in front of her, but Hermione didn't touch it.

"What happened while I was gone?" she asked, looking from face to face.

Arthur sighed before gesturing for the rest of the family to leave them. "I suppose it all started with the death of Sirius Black," he began, folding his hands on the table top. "You probably don't know about him; Black was a serial killer that escaped Azkaban shortly before Ron and Harry went back to school for their third year. He broke into the school a number of times, after Harry. He was apprehended by the Dementors near the end of the year and executed. We thought that was the end of it. Then came the Death Eater raid on the Quidditch Cup, the first appearance of You-Know-Who's followers in years. We should have known something was up." Hermione who had begun picking at her food, set her fork down and pushed the plate aside.

"In his fourth year Harry ended up participating in The Triwizard Tournament, an event he should not have been even able to enter. It was all part of You-Know-Who's plan. He had sent one of his followers into the school, disguised as a professor, to enter Harry in the Tournament and assure that he survived to the end. He nearly didn't; the first task alone nearly ended up with him dead and left him with some lasting scars that even magic couldn't fully heal. By the end the Death Eater who was in charge of seeing that Harry won, killed all of the other contestants, when it was clear Harry could not win, and transported him away from Hogwarts." Arthur sighed and rubbed his head with his hand. "It wasn't till hours later that the maze that served as the final task was searched and the bodies found. Then the dead body of Alistair Moody was discovered, discarded in his office, the imposter long gone. It wasn't till dawn that Dumbledore's spy brought back the news of You-Know-Who's return. They found Harry's body in a cemetery near Little Hangleton the next morning."

"Things only went downhill from there, You-Know-Who began to infiltrate the Ministry, and despite Dumbledore's claims the Minister was content to believe that the threat of You-Know-Who was non-existent. The Ministry sent an agent to keep an eye on things at the school, to make sure everything was up to the Ministry standards, or so they said. Mostly it was to get Dumbledore out of the school, and in the end they succeeded. The Minister was very pleased at having gotten the better of Dumbledore. The fool turned up dead a week later and was replaced by a new Minister to serve as You-Know-Who's puppet in pulling the Ministry's strings. The school was unofficially headed by the Ministry, and the woman, Dolores Umbridge, was put in as Headmistress of the school. Things were bad, and then the Death Eaters attacked the school, in the name of purging undesirables from the grounds — the Ministry claimed. One of the students got word to the Order, just before it happened; and they were able to get most of the students out. Then You-Know-Who joined the fight; Dumbledore activated the school's defenses; even driven from the school, it still recognized him as Headmaster. He didn't make it out of the fight. With its defenses active and no Headmaster to direct it, the building drove out both the Order and the Death Eaters before sealing itself. The grounds have since then become a breeding ground for the Acromantulas that used to reside in the Forest. That was three months ago."

The two sat in silence for a time, as Hermione digested the information, then she started to laugh, without humor. She laughed until her eyes stung and the shaking of her shoulders became tremors from a suppressed sob, and she buried her face in her hands. Gradually she quieted.

"So you're saying, everything I have been trying to get back to, everything that has kept me moving and sane, is gone." Arthur had no reply to that.


The next evening the house was in an uproar; Hermione entered the cottage from having gone for a run after lunch. There were so many people in the house, the constant chatter and noise from so many people living in close quarters was enough to put every nerve in her body on edge. She realized now that maybe she had been alone for too long; she had a new understanding of Halt's gruff and distant demeanor when she had first met him. She tried to reconnect with the twins, but after her attack on them things had become awkward. The other Weasleys she had not known well before her disappearance, and so she was beginning to get to know them for the first time. Mrs. Weasley seemed bent on bringing her into the family; checking if she needed anything, trying to talk to her about where she had been and… the touching. Oh, the touching. The woman took every opportunity to place a comforting hand on her shoulder or hug her; she guessed it was the woman's maternal instinct, trying to offer her comfort and make her feel welcome, she had seen the same actions being performed on her sons. The older woman didn't realize, the actions were only causing Hermione to seclude herself from them further.

She hadn't known a kind touch, such as a comforting hug, in nearly four years and not socialized much since Halt's capture. She was unused to such gestures of kindness and unable to cope with the cluttering of noises from the family's daily routines about the house, so Hermione would find herself going for long walks or confining herself to Ron's room, when Molly wasn't there.

She was surprised to see the house in such an active state when she arrived and a number of non-red-headed people in the kitchen.

"What is going on?" she asked, loitering in the kitchen doorway. There was a black wizard speaking animatedly with Mr. Weasley and McGonagall; Mrs. Weasley seemed to have retreated to one of the upstairs rooms, most likely with Ron.

Apparently the man was named Kingsley and was a former Auror before he was forced into hiding, Bill filled her in. What was left of The Order of the Phoenix, the group that had reformed to fight Voldemort's forces was still trying to fight in any way possible against the Dark Lord. Meaning, they would try to head off attacks on Muggle-born families and try to undermine the Death Eater's influences any way they could.

They had recently gotten a tip of an upcoming raid on a Muggle-born family and were mobilizing what people could be spared to head off the raid, before getting the family out and to a Safe house.

"I want to go," Hermione said, breaking away from her talk with Bill and toward McGonagall and the ex-auror.

"That is out of the question, Ms Granger, you don't know how to Apparate nor do you possess a wand. I can't permit you going; you will only be a liability." the professor said, brushing passed her as she, the ex-auror and four male Weasleys headed toward the door, the twins having just returned from saying farewell to their mother who had refused to come downstairs and see them off.

"I might not have a wand, but I can hold my own in a fight. I could buy you time to get the family out if nothing else," the young witch said, storming after the group and planting herself in front of the older witch.

McGonagall stared at the girl, her brown eyes burning with a cold resolve. "Very well, Ms. Granger," she said finally with a sigh and offered the younger witch her arm, as they continued on following the men who had passed them to the point past the wards, where they could Apparate.


"Is this necessary?" Hermione asked, as she sat in the kitchen at Shell Cottage that had been made into a temporary infirmary. The mission had gone less than smooth, the Order had gotten to the home of the family just in time to see the Death Eaters arrive. The fight was quick, as the family was whisked away while the Order ran interference. Spells had been flying in all directions, as Hermione had darted through the fray, dodging attacks. As she had expected, the Death Eaters were not used to fighting an opponent who was more than proficient at fighting with her bare hands. Her first attacker had been cocky, he barely had time to register her before she smashed the heel of her palm into his nose hard enough to break bone. He dropped like a stone, blood leaking from his eyes and what was left of his nose.

When the battle was over, she walked the ruined remains of the house that had once belonged to the Muggle-born family. Picking up a napkin off the broken remains of the kitchen table, she walked out to find the twins, Arthur and McGonagall there. Cleaning the blood off her knife she slipped it back in her belt, cleaning the gore from her hands as best she could she tossed the rag aside.

McGonagall watched the practiced action with an air of caution and a slight look of pity, as Hermione joined them, the bright bookish teen she had known had changed a great deal it seemed in the years since her disappearance. Now she stood in the doorway of the kitchen of Shell Cottage, watching Pomfrey tend to the wounds from the latest skirmish. The medi-witch was invaluable, moving from one Safe house to another, treating the wounded Order members who could not go to a hospital or risk being found by the Death Eaters.

Bill had gotten a few scratches and a large knot on the back of his head, Fred had gotten a gash in his leg and was currently upstairs in his bed, consoling his distraught mother. Now it was Hermione's turn, and she seemed reluctant to receive any treatment. She had gotten nicked by a Slicing Hex in the side and kept batting the medi-witch's hands away, whenever she moved to inspect it.

"I don't need any treatment, it's just a scratch, I can take care of it," she said, attempting to move off from where she was sitting on the kitchen table.

"This will only take a moment if you would just sit still. Let me just check for any other injuries, and I can heal that scratch up in an instant," Pomfrey said, waving her wand from head to foot; red sparks crackling from her wand tip almost the whole time, save when it went over the fresh cut, then the sparks turned in an orangey yellow. "Oh, dear," she said, her brow furrowing in confusion before casting the same spell with the same result. Hermione shifted uncomfortably before Pomfrey gave her a stern look. Moving to the door, she began to close it on McGonagall who gave her a questioning look.

"This may take a while," she said softly, closing the door to give them some privacy. It was two hours later, when Hermione exited the kitchen, limping slightly as she passed through the living room intending to head up the stairs to her own room. She paused, when she caught sight of the group, gathered in the room. McGonagall was still there, along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and a figure she hadn't thought she would see again.

"This is a surprise, back from the dead, Ms. Granger," came a snide remark from a black robed man sitting in one of the patched armchairs like he didn't stick out like a snake among lions.

"Obviously," Hermione drawled out, ignoring the pain in her ribs every time she took a breath. Brown eyes locked with black ones, and she felt the oddest sensation that — as a jumble of memories passed through her mind at the aggravation of her old wounds — she wasn't the only one seeing them.

A fall and the snap of bone. Claws in her back and teeth in her side. A male form on top of her, hand at her throat, knife drawing shallow cuts across her ribs. An explosion and sharp hot pain lancing across her back and legs—

"How are you feeling, dear? Did Poppy patch you up?" Mrs Weasley asked Hermione who blinked and let her eyes focus on the other woman as she came over. Hermione backed off from the hand heading for her shoulder with a defensive jerk.

The room went silent, as Molly dropped her hand, as Hermione shifted slightly. Snape watched the exchange with disinterest, though his eyes followed the young witch, as she excused herself. She seemed to be trying to mask the slight limp in her step, as she left the room and headed up the stairs.

Molly retook her seat on the couch, her husband putting an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his side.

"Has she said anything of where she has been these last four years?" McGonagall asked, looking off toward the stairs.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing, but wherever she was, it was most likely unpleasant."

"She has terrible nightmares," Molly said softly. "We can hear her at night. Fred tried to wake her once, and she nearly choked him to death."

"That poor child," Pomfrey said, entering the room and sitting in the remaining chair, accepting the tea that was offered to her.

"What is it, Poppy? You were in there a while — did she say anything?" Arthur asked, concern and curiosity written on his face.

"No, she said nothing, but what I found spoke volumes."

"What did you find, Poppy?" McGonagall asked.

"What didn't I find?" she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "The majority of Ms. Granger's body is covered in scars. There are a number of burns covering her abdomen, a number of large wounds that look as if she were mauled by an animal and at least 12 fractures and breaks that did not heal properly."

"Has she said, what caused them?"

Poppy shook her head. "The girl looks as if she was tortured, most of which I could do nothing to help. They are all very old, a year at least, most even older. The best I could do was to reset the bones that didn't heal properly; it wasn't pleasant, the breaking and resetting, but she didn't cry once."

The meeting seemed to be at an end, so Snape chose that time to leave. It wouldn't due to be gone too long, especially since the Dark Lord was sure to be angered at the latest Muggle-born family to slip through his grip.


The days passed by quickly, and Hermione began to find ways to pass the time. Getting caught up on what she had missed over the years was proving quite the distraction, she had managed to collect a number of the school texts on classes she had missed, and begun to hone her spellwork in a way she had not been able to on the island, which had consisted of first and second year work mixed with a few techniques she had simply stumbled upon. Mornings would find her out on the beach, training her body, while the evenings were dedicated to honing her mind and magic in a way it hadn't been challenged in years, as she sat by Ron's bedside, reading aloud the text books from years she had missed. Deep down she hoped maybe her reading would rouse him from his sleep; if only to tell her to stop with the school work, when they were not in school.

One morning, after having come in for breakfast, she had found herself talking to Bill who had been the only one other than Molly who was up so early.

"Is Professor Snape in the Order?" she asked, having not seen the man since the evening after the raid on the Muggle-born house, though McGonagall had been by a number of times, as had Neville and Kingsley.

"Sort of," Bill replied, chewing on a piece of bacon. "He was Dumbledore's spy, or so McGonagall says. I don't trust the man, but he gives us a heads-up on raids; so I suppose he has his uses." He shrugged before filling his plate again.

After nearly a month back Hermione was finally feeling herself begin to adjust to life with the Weasleys, though she still disliked Molly's constant mothering, she was beginning to tolerate it. There had been two more Death Eater raids they had interfered with, since her first and the Muggle-born was beginning to get the hang of fighting magic-wielders and even test out some of the new spells she had begun learning. The Shield Charms were a particularly useful addition to her arsenal, though she had yet to cast one that would hold under attack.

After finishing the few books that were scattered throughout the cottage, Hermione began looking for more. Digging through Ron's old school trunk, Molly had given her permission to look through it; she hadn't had the heart to go through his things after the attack. Ignoring the random scattering of Quidditch memorabilia and clothing that had been tossed in haphazardly, she found the books that looked like they had been passed through many hands before finding a place stuck on the bottom of the trunk. Pulling the books out and stacking them to the side, a wooden box in one corner of the trunk caught her attention. Picking up the box, she sat back on her heels, a creek in the doorway drew her attention to the entrance of the room.

"Find everything you need?" Molly asked, coming into the room.

"Yes," Hermione said, sticking the box back in the trunk and pulling out the last of the books. Molly came over and picked up the box, running a hand over the lid.

"Ron said he kept his most valuable possessions in here," she said, looking over at Hermione, who was stacking the books in a neat pile for her to carry to her room. Molly set the box on the stack, as Hermione picked them up to leave. "Would you look after it? I think Ron would want one of his friends to keep it safe, at least until he wakes up."

"Of course," Hermione said, glancing at the trunk, and wandlessly it closed and locked itself. "I'll look after it," she said, heading back to her room; setting her books down on the still unused bed, she picked up the box before sitting down on the floor below the windowsill. Opening the box, she found a collection of photos; one was a recent photo of him with a group of others his age, she recognized Neville and a red-headed girl who could only be Ginny. There were a few other photos from school, including one of him at what must have been thirteen or fourteen with a boy his age who had glasses and unruly black hair. He was wearing a set of Quidditch robes and holding a fluttering golden ball in one hand, his other thrown over Ron's shoulder. Hermione smiled at the sight of Harry and Ron looking so happy. There were a few more photos of them, along with a copy of the same one she had of the three of them together. Setting the photos aside, she looked to see what else was in the box; there was a folded stack of parchment that when unfolded proved to be blank. Setting this aside to investigate later, she didn't think Ron would find a bundle of extra parchment was important, unless his view of academic work had changed over the years. Looking on the bottom, there were a handful of chess pieces, and there was something fabric. Pulling it out revealed that, unlike the robes in his trunk, Ron had folded the shimmering smooth fabric with great care. Shaking it out revealed Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione sat there for a while, the Cloak draped over her lap, as she ran a hand over the smooth fabric, while she looked through the photos again. A knock at her door drew her away from her reminiscing, she draped the cloak over the box and the scattered photos before the door could open.

"Mum wanted me to tell you dinner is almost ready," Bill said, poking his head in the room.

"Okay, I will be down in a minute," she said before Bill left to head back downstairs. Picking the Cloak back up, she folded it up neatly before replacing it and the other items in the box. Moving over to her own trunk she twisted the combination lock on it till it opened and placed it safely inside, under the unstrung longbow and recurve bow that were wrapped in a canvas tarp. Closing the trunk, she locked it before heading downstairs for dinner.


July 1997-Shell Cottage.

Hermione sat up panting, sweat drenching her body, as she stifled a yell with her hand. Her dreams were getting worse since she had come back. On the island she had been so wrapped up in remaining undiscovered and silent, when she slept, she would wake before her dreams could get too bad. Now she couldn't suppress them anymore. Now she could not go a night without waking in a panic, and once she was up she was in no rush to fall back to sleep. Conjuring a flame, she placed it in the jar she kept on the bedside table, lighting the small room enough for her to see. The moon was only a sliver in the sky and provided little light through her window.

Pulling out a text on third-year Charms, she flipped to the page she had marked before going to sleep. She read for a time before a pounding on the downstairs door caught her attention. Grabbing her knife sheath, she strapped her belt on, while blowing out the flame in the jar. Slipping out the door, she moved soundlessly downstairs to hear Arthur talking with McGonagall.

"—Voldemort found out—"

"Looks like Greyback's work."

"Is he breathing?"

"Call Poppy—" Hermione rounded the kitchen doorway just in time to see a silver tabby disappear through the kitchen wall.

"Do you have any Blood-Replenishing Potions, we need them all." McGonagall said, Transfiguring a stack of clothes. Grabbing one of the rags, she held it to the chest of the man sprawled unmoving on the kitchen table, red seeped into the cloth, soaking the fabric in seconds. Arthur was digging through cabinets, pulling out potions bottles.

"We don't have much, but it will have to do," Arthur said, popping the lid off one of the bottles and dumping it down the man's throat.

"Severus, can you hear me, you need to stay awake. Poppy is on her way," McGonagall said, grabbing another cloth to replace the red-stained one on his chest.

"Do you have any yarrow?" Hermione asked, coming to stand across from the older witch, grabbing one of the rags and applying pressure to one of the long gashes ripped down his chest, "we need to stop the bleeding."

"I think so," Arthur said after dumping another bottle of the Blood-Replenisher down Snape's throat, the man groaned, his eyes barely open and unfocussed. Leaving, Arthur Weasley came back with a large jar half full of the plant a short time later.

"Do you know any healing magic?" Hermione asked, looking at the two adults.

"Nothing that will help at the moment, werewolf wounds are cursed. The best we can do is stabilize him until Poppy gets here," Minerva said gravely. Lifting her cloth, Hermione looked over the wound quickly before replacing it. "Keep pressure on this for me," she indicated to Arthur before moving around the table to peek at the larger gashes before letting McGonagall replace the cloth. The girl then turned and ran upstairs, taking two at a time before returning with a canvas sack. Dumping the contents out on the table by Snape's head, she laid them out on one of the clean rags, lighting a flame in a shallow glass bowl before wandlessly Levitating a needle back and forth through the flame.

"What's going on—" Molly gasped, coming into the room, drawn by the noise.

"Get me the strongest alcohol you have around here," Hermione ordered, threading the needle before pushing McGonagall out of the way.

"What are you doing, Ms. Granger?" McGonagall cried.

"I thought I would try to stop the bleeding, since none of you seem to be doing anything about it," she said blandly, "Now, will someone get me something alcoholic!?"

Finally, a bottle of whiskey was provided by Molly. "Hold him down!" she snapped, forgoing the many buttons on his torn shirt, and simply pulled her knife and split it up the front. Moving the fabric out of the way, she moved the cloths that were keeping the blood from simply flowing out of him right before pouring a portion of the liquid in the open gashes. Snape yelled in pain and thrashed, it took all four of them to keep him on the table; for his thin frame he was stronger than he looked. Once the wounds had been cleaned out and the thrashing had subsided, Hermione set to work stitching the wounds closed. As she finished with each one, she packed the wound with the yarrow she had Arthur crush for her. Her work was quick and efficient, as she stitched the torn flesh together, and was nearly done when Pomfrey finally arrived.

"I'm sorry I was late, I was in the middle of—" She trailed off, watching the young witch work before jumping right in, her wand checking over the wounds.

"I got most of the bleeding to stop, and as far as I could tell no major arteries were hit, but I can't tell if there is any internal damage," Hermione said, tying off the last stitch and packing the wound with crushed yarrow to slow the blood flow that was seeping through the stitches.

"That was very resourceful of you, Ms. Granger. There seem to be some other internal injuries, but you have taken care of the most serious, I can handle the rest," Pomfrey said, looking over the wounds before glancing up at McGonagall. "Greyback again?" she asked.

"So it would seem," Minerva said, "Severus was nearly unconscious, when I found him; he didn't say much other than that You-Know-Who had found him no longer useful to keep around. We won't know more till he regains consciousness."

"Will he become a werewolf?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know, it depends if Greyback was in wolf form or not. Answers on that will have to wait until he wakes as well." Poppy said, cleaning the blood from Snape's body before conjuring bandages that wrapped themselves around his chest.

"He wasn't attacked by a wolf," Hermione remarked from the sink, where she had been washing the blood from her hands and instruments before returning them to her bag. "There were five distinct claw marks, and the spacing was far too wide to be a paw," she stated before heading back up to her room, hoping maybe after all the excitement she might be able to get an hour or two of sleep before the sun rose.


Snape was to remain at Shell Cottage until he had mended enough to take care of himself, currently he was confined to bed per Pomfrey's orders. With the limited space they ended up having to add another bed to Ron's room for the spy, seeing as it was the only room big enough to hold another bed; Molly was not happy about this, but in the end she gave in. Snape had no opinion on the subject mostly due to the fact that he had remained unconscious for the whole of the argument before he was Levitated upstairs.

When he did, finally regain consciousness, he found himself in a room he didn't recognize, feeling like a dragon had danced on his chest. He tried to sit up, but the pain was too much, and he dropped back on his pillow with a pained hiss, escaping between his clenched teeth. Looking around he noticed a phial sitting beside his bed; reaching for it he noted he was bare from the waist up except for the bandages encircling his chest. Pulling the seal from the bottle, he sniffed it cautiously before downing the familiar Pain Relief Potion.

Feeling his body begin to go pleasantly numb, he again tried to sit up, this time succeeding in propping himself up on his pillow. Scanning his surroundings, he found he shared the room with the youngest Weasley and the young Ms. Granger who was so recently back from the dead. Granger was seated on the chair next to Weasley's bed, book open on her lap and head on the side of the bed cradled on her elbow. He couldn't see her face, but from her posture, he guessed she was asleep.

The arm her head was resting on, moved in her sleep, as she clutched at her hair as her body twitched.

"Nyet," she groaned out in pain right before the book on her lap fell with a thud on the floor, her head jerked up awake. Catching sight of him very much awake, Hermione straightened in her chair. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly, pushing a curl out of her face, as she bent to pick up the fallen book and set it on the nightstand beside the bed.

"You didn't," Snape replied, wincing, as his wound pulled. "I didn't expect to wake up."

"I doubt you would have, had I not been around," she said, locking eyes with the Potions Master, visions of himself lying bleeding on a table lept out to him before he broke the contact. Hermione continued speaking, "For a bunch of fully trained magic-users at war, they are rather lacking in the first aid department, Pomfrey excluded of course. But really, you would think they would know the use of yarrow outside potions," she stated offhanded, as she stood and moved toward the door. "I should get Pomfrey, she probably wants to have a look at you, and I know McGonagall wants to ask you some questions," she said, walking toward the door.

"You should look into some mental defenses," Snape remarked, rubbing his temple as his head fell back onto his pillow. "Your mind practically screams what you're thinking to anyone with even the most mediocre of Legilimency skill." Hermione stiffened at this, pausing in the doorway. "I don't suppose there is a book on the subject I could find lying around," she said icely, she didn't like being weak. She had never had to worry about her mental defences or lack thereof before, the idea that her mind was unguarded made her more than a little uneasy.

"Doubtfully," Snape said tiredly, the potion was making him drowsy, "but I could teach you, if only to save myself the headache while I'm here."

"I'll go get Pomfrey," she said rather than to reply, Snape only scoffed and closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep.


"You seem to be healing up nicely, Severus," Pomfrey said, removing the bandages from his injury; it had been nearly two weeks, and the wounds had begun to close up nicely with Pomfrey's careful supervision, "I think it is about time we remove those stitches, don't you think, Ms. Granger? You are after all more familiar with them than I."

Hermione set the book she had been reading aside and walked over to the bed to get a look at the healing wounds. There were five in all; but the longest and deepest ran down the middle of the cluster from his left collar bone down across his pale stomach to just above his right hip bone that was peeking out from his loose hospital bottoms.

They look healed enough to remove," she said, seating herself on the edge of the bed. "I can take them out now if you want. Unless Madam Pomfrey would like to." She looked over at the medi-witch.

"No, you go right ahead, dear," the older witch said, moving over to check up on Ron's condition. Hermione gave a sigh before leaving the room and coming back with her sack of tools.

"Have you been practicing those exercises I showed you?" Snape asked, sitting up, where he was far more comfortable, as the young woman would not have to lean over him, while she removed the stitches.

"Yes," Hermione replied, not glancing up, as she cut and removed each of the stitches, her fingers working nimbly, as they moved over his chest. "I've been sleeping better," she admitted after Pomfrey had bustled out of the room. Glancing up at him, he was watching, his dark eyes partly obscured by his long hair that looked cleaner than she remembered it being when she was at school.

"Just because you're tending to my injuries, Ms. Granger, does not give you the right to feel me up," Snape scolded crossly, his signature feature, the disproving professor look, in place.

"If you should be so lucky," Hermione snorted dryly; she had been running her fingers over the area of flesh, she had been removing stitches from. "I've never worked with stitches on someone else before, I thought you might find it unpleasant if I left one in."

The two were quiet after that, Hermione focusing on her work, while Snape watched her like a hawk.


Hermione jogged over the rocky ground, jumping down a steep hill and onto the beach, she turned back toward the cottage. The sun had risen some time ago, but the overcast clouds kept it out of sight; even so the weather was still warm, and the breeze off the sea was refreshing. She was just about to round the last bend to the house, when she saw a figure wading in the shallows of the surf. His shoes and usual dark jacket were on the dry sand, leaving him in a simple white button-up shirt and dark pants that clung to his legs, where the water lapped at his shins. Hermione slowed till she came to his discarded clothing and sat down, taking off her own boots, she dug her feet into the sand.

Snape walked in the surf for a time before turning and coming back toward his things. With a flick of his wrist his wand was in his hand, and a hex was blowing a cloud of sand up into the air where Hermione had been sitting.

"You know I might have found that rather rude, but I should have expected it, when you agreed to help me with magic dueling skills that you weren't going to teach it like Lockhart," Hermione said, rising to her feet from where she had rolled, dusting the sand of her pants, bowing to him in the fashion she had been taught in Dueling Club.

"That idiot couldn't teach a fish to swim, let alone a bunch of children to duel," he said, walking in a wide circle, Hermione following him step for step, as they circled one another. He fired another hex, and again she dodged out of the way, throwing a Stinging Hex his way. Snape through up a Protego and the hex hit it with as much effect as a fly against a brick wall.

"Your spells lack the power they would have with a wand, you're going to have to throw more of your own power into it if you want any chance of breaking through my shields," he instructed, releasing his shield and letting it fall. "How are your own shields?" he commented. "Diffindo!" he cast along with two more non-verbal spells. Hermione attempted to dodge like she had done the others, but threw up a hasty shield that was easily shattered by a Jelly-Legs Jinx that sent her stumbling to the ground.

"Using a spell without the incantation is useful, but you would find it far more useful if you used them, particularly with spells you have yet mastered." Hermione cursed venomously, as she stumbled to her feet before falling back in the sand.

"Take this thing off me!" she snarled, falling over again; Snape watched her with amusement.

"Make a shield that doesn't shatter on first impact and I will," he challenged, folding his arms, wand dangling from his fingertips.

"Stupefy!" she cast, sitting on the ground, the spell glanced off Snape's non-verbal shield with as much effect as her last.

"Diffindo!"

"Protego!" Hermione's shield flickered under the impact before falling.

"Again," Snape said, circling her on the ground. "Diffindo!"

"Protego!" This time her shield held against the impact and fell, as she released the spell.

"Good," he said, releasing the jinx on her legs and moving to collect his jacket and shoes. "Now all you need to do is make that hold for something more dangerous than a low-grade spell." Hermione took the opportunity to catch his ankle with her own, knocking his feet out from under him before standing on her now steady legs and going to fetch her boots.

"And you need to mind your footing," she said, holding her shoes by the laces while flipping her hair over her shoulder and heading back to the cottage, leaving Snape to pick himself up off the sandy beach.


February 1998-Ministry of Magic, London, England.

After months of planning they were finally here; Hermione felt Snape shift behind her, as they waited for the hallway to clear before slipping out of the Time Room on their way to the Death Chamber on the ninth floor of the Ministry building. The Cloak that had once covered her and her friends while they had done all manner of rule-breaking at school was now hiding the pair, as they moved through the Ministry. So far, they had been lucky in getting their hands on a Time-Turner, but their luck could only hold for so long.

They made it to the Chamber quickly enough and without much incident, save when they had nearly been run over by a frazzled looking Ministry worker, carrying a monstrous stack of file folders that caused the worker to teeter from side to side as she walked to keep them from falling over. Snape wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her into a doorway to keep the woman from bumping into them as she passed. Time seemed to slow, as the woman paused in front of their hiding spot to speak to someone in the office across from them. Hermione shifted, wanting to slip by the woman, but the arm around her waist held her still, as Snape backed them further into the doorway as the woman began digging through the folders in her arms all the while attempting to keep the stack from falling.

Something soft brushed her skin and she looked up over her shoulder; Snape's hair had fallen forward and was tickling her cheek as he leaned down to talk in her ear.

"Patience, if we rush, then someone is bound to notice us," he whispered, his breath warm against her neck and ear.

"The same could be said if we stay here much longer," Hermione whispered back, finding herself oddly comfortable with the close proximity given the number of times she had shied away from Molly's comforting embraces.

Soon enough the woman finally found the folder she was looking for and was on her way to deliver more, leaving Snape and Hermione clear to make their way to the Death Chamber.

Entering the room, Snape tossed the Cloak to the floor, warding the door; if all went as planned, they would not be leaving back the way they had come. Pulling a book and the Time-Turner out of the duffle bag she had brought, Hermione tossed them to Snape who caught them easily, as he moved toward the Veil in long strides. As Snape began carving runes into the arch of the gateway with his wand, Hermione pulled out a number of her home-made explosives; they had been made to function around magic, but she only hoped the timer she was currently installing would still work.

When he had finished carving the last rune, Hermione placed a charge on either side of the arch. If their crazy plan actually worked, then they would have to make sure no one followed them through.

Suddenly there was a banging on the Chamber door, followed by a number of shouting voices.

"Finish this, I'll hold them off," Snape said, tossing the Time-Turner and the book to Hermione, as he headed to place himself between her and the door. Quickly Hermione opened the book to the marked page and began reciting the incantation, even as the shouting and banging became more intense, until the door was blown clean off its hinges. With a flick of his wand Snape had sent the forward-most Death Eaters flying back into their allies, as they all tried to rush in through the door at once.

Hermione continued in her spellwork, unable to help, as three Death Eaters entered the room fully and engaged Snape, even as others were picking themselves off the floor, where they had been thrown.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" came the voice of Antonin Dolohov who was at the front of the group.

"It would seem, Mr. Greyback is losing his touch," Snape sneered back casually, right before throwing a non-verbal hex at a rat-faced woman who was trying to slip by him, the hex hit her in the chest and sent her flying back into a nearby column, where she fell in a crumpled heap.

"You must be barking mad to come here, it's not often the Dark Lord gets to sentence you to death twice," Dolohov sang, throwing a sickly yellow-colored curse toward Hermione who was still reciting the incantation. Snape smoothly stepped in and cast a Protego, blocking the curse before sending out three of his own in quick succession. Dolohov laughed, dodging the attack even as one of his crew went down with a sickening crunch.

"What is your little girlfriend doing there," Dolohov goaded from behind, while he was using a column for cover.

"I think you should worry more about what I'm doing," Snape said, blasting the base of the column out, throwing the man back with a shower of stone debris before the spy turned on another Death Eater, as more entered the room.

The Veil fluttered on an unfelt wind, undisturbed amidst the fighting around it. Finishing the last of the lengthy incantation, Hermione tossed the Time-Turner into the fabric of the Veil. Suddenly a golden crackle of power shot across the Veil, snapping the fabric to attention; its surface becoming smooth as glass, no light seemed to penetrate the darkness within.

"Come on, it's ready!" Hermione called, as the Veil stilled, turning she threw a spell into the fray, "Confringo!"

"Reducto!" Snape yelled, backing up from his position, as more Death Eaters began to pour into the room at the sound of fighting.

"Traitor!" someone yelled, right before Hermione brought one of the few remaining columns down on top of him. Moving together, the pair stood back to back, firing spells in all directions and moving closer to the gateway still crackling with golden energy.

"Come on, Sir, we need to go now! Expulso!" Hermione yelled over the chaos.

"Go, Granger!" Snape yelled back. "Sectumsempra!" Thorfinn Rowle was sent sliding to the floor, nearly cut in two.

"Protego Duo!" Hermione gasped, throwing up a shield as they were backed nearly into the archway, giving them a moment to breathe."Sir—?"

"No one else can be allowed to get through, or everything we have planned will be lost," Snape said, throwing up a shield of his own to buy them more time, as Hermione's was already beginning to falter under the constant barrage of attacks. "Now stow that Gryffindor stubbornness and go!" he shouted, she shook her head in silent defiance and he surprised her by resting a hand on either shoulder in an almost embrace, as he lowered his voice. "I failed in my promise, and this is the price I must pay. I wish you luck in what I could not achieve. Goodbye, Hermione."

"Sev—" Her confusion was evident as she barely got a syllable out before his grip tightened on her, an instant before the shield fell and she was shoved backward into the solid surface of the Veil.

"GO," Snape yelled, as he watched her disappear through the archway, as it shattered like fine glass. "CONFRINGO!" he roared, the spell slammed into the explosives on the archway, and the room was filled with a fiery explosion.


June 1994, Hook Norton.

Hermione rolled over in her bed, it was late, but she was finding it hard to sleep. Standing, she moved to her bedroom window and opened it, the warm summer breeze felt good, as it tousled her curls, as she looked out over the quiet street. She had been back in this time for a year now, nearly two years, since she had left the solitude of the island. Curling up on the window seat, she took the time to remember those she had left behind and not for the first time wondered what promise Snape had failed to keep.


Next Chapter 14: Keep Following That Distant Star-Part one of the Summer Break, Sirius faces off against the Dursley's and Hermione begins looking for the more on Riddle's past and the item's Dumbledore found so important to his downfall.

Edited-04/04/18

German Translation by the wonderful and patient Alea Thoron.