You have been ordered to guard the
President's life and to shoot anyone who attempts to get closer than 15 feet to
him. While you are guarding him at a public occasion, a little, 6 year old girl
runs at the President and gets too close. What is the first thing you feel
after shooting her?
-from an alleged CIA psychological evaluation
Not Designed to Fade
"Professor Snape!"
The Scottish weather had taken its natural course and rain fell over the Hogwarts grounds. "Professor Snape," Ellen continued to yell, running to catch up with him, "You could at least acknowledge my presence."
The dark figure in front of her stopped and a scowl formed on his barely visible face, "Miss Knightford, do you believe that it is entirely possible that I am in no mood to accompany an eleven-year old?"
She moved closer to her Potions Professor and with the logic only an eleven-year-old can muster she said, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," he said, "Miss Knightford, I trust that you realize that my problems are not precisely privy to a first year?" Staring hard at the little girl steeled eyes he gave into a lie, " If you must know, I'm trying to formulate plans to take on an apprentice next term."
This set Ellens Slytherin senses a-tingling, "Who?" Her eyes questioned more than her words.
"For your information, she happens to be Professor Granger. I understand that you will have her next year for Muggle Studies," he began to turn away from the young girl, "I would advise going back to your table, Miss Knightford, before your robes become unsuitable for wear."
Ellen shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back again. Her lips suddenly became dry, comforted by the rain spirals.
"Yes, Professor," she said before parting, "I hope you work out any other troubles you may have."
Not for the first time, Severus piled his head into his hands, trying to remember why an articulate eleven-year-old was taking such a vested interest in his life.
By early morning, the rain turned into a downpour as Hermione and Ingrid made their way back towards their rooms. The ground was muddy and the blasted Divination teacher had worn boots, while Hermione had left that evening in low heels.
"Ingrid," Hermione started, "Next time you have the impression that it will rain, inform me. I simply dislike dirt dislodging spells at three in the morning."
Ingrid laughed a silver peal, "It's much more fun this way though," she took a glance above her, "It's a lovely little storm, I say though. More than I expected, otherwise, I would have brought an umbrella."
"Well, I'm glad to know you aren't perfect," Hermione grumbled to herself.
Ingrid reached the doorway to the Ravenclaw House door, and gave a farewell, "Good night Hermione, and do try to get some sleep," before uttering the password to the teachers wing.
The way Ingrid, over the past year, had made little comments that insinuated more than what she meant to say unnerved Hermione. The fact that she now sat, the rain having slowed to a drip, and she, unable to sleep.
Her eyes had taken on a haunted look, sleepless after a full night of activity. But excitement had not kept her up.
It was seeing Harry again.
She thought she could bury the past. She thought she could outthink the trauma when it arose in her mind, each month since that night nearly two years ago. But month after month, and week after week, the memories rose, a trick candle in the night.
And tonight they rose like the roman candles.
"Hermione, ready?"
"This is still foolish, Harry," Hermione looked over at her companion, "You all but left Ron back there."
"He has the training to survive," Harry returned, "He'll be fine. There's no one left there. I need you here."
It's not like he couldn't go on without me. I was the foolish one there. I wasn't ready, even though I said yes.
"I need someone who's meticulous with their spells, Hermione," Harry explained, "Ron…is a good Auror, but hardly has the mind you do."
The magical wasteland laid before them now, and in the distance, the cry of who-knows-what sounded. Hermione hardly noticed them. She knew what and whom she had to face here. She wouldn't let fear get in her way now.
Too late.
Far too late to show fear.
Hermione tripped over a random rock, grabbing onto Harry for support. Instantly, a flash of light surrounds them. Blinding, falling, and solid ground.
"Portkey," Harry murmured, "Guess even Voldemort resorts to the same old tricks."
Of course, how could I be so stupid? I should have been watching out for strange objects. I could have noticed, if I wasn't so busy being nervous. Things weren't simple back there. And now the area was even more blear. Grey for miles and miles upon end, an empty nothingness that blended into the darkened sky.
Harry and Ron keep telling me that I'm not to blame for what happened. No, smart Hermione, wonderful, best friend Hermione could never do anything that terrible. No, the aurors would never believe me. I've lived my life to avoid doing this, ever, to anyone.
Then, the screaming began. These were not the cries of mysterious creatures, but the painful agonies of full-grown men, thrown to the floor by the force of surrealist needles poured into every pore of their skin. Dozens of them, each a visual reminder of why Harry and Hermione were here. From the sky, lightening pinched the sky into a cracked vase every so often, but no rain fell. Maybe if rain had fallen, a sense of familiarity would have fallen over the duo.
Instead tension rained down on them, because now the unmistakable frames of Voldemort and his followers were close enough that Hermione could tell that the numbers had already been depleted.
Harry burst into action, curses flailing. Auror training or not, this was the man that killed his parents. And now he was the full-grown man, trained to…kill.
I stood by and did nothing, this is his battle, I remember thinking. I took refuge behind Harry, with an aiming spell on my tongue, training my sight on the Dark Lord. All according to plan, so far. Or whatever plans we had made up twenty minutes ago. Harry would get the glory, and I'd get the knowledge that I did something great, and some fame on the side. Nothing to spectacular, after all, I'm not that sort of person who seeks prestige. Just a place to hang my hat, maybe a picture in the Daily Prophet, a little blurb underneath. Something to show my parents.
Voldemort handed us a new trick though. From his farthest reaches, the terrified figures of Muggles danced in his grip. Everytime a curse was thrown, it would almost hit one of the defenseless humans.
Harry looked to me. While he was faster with his reflexes, I was better with my timing. I told him earlier that I would never deliver an unforgivable…but we had figured out several other curses.
"Aeris combibo" flick and swish…
As Hermione uttered the curse, Harry stepped backwards, his cheeks slightly lacerated, dropping little bits of blood. Bumping back into Hermione, he broke her concentration. The curse changed in direction, and Hermione watched in horror as it hit the Muggle instead of Voldemort.
I fell and gaped as the poor man turned blue, all the oxygen being forced out of his body. A few minutes later, he collapsed in a heap. I sat in shock as Harry continued A rally of curses and counter-curses from his wand. He didn't escape them all. I must have been knocked out soon afterwards, for the next thing, Harry is unconscious, Voldemort is incinerated and thoroughly dead, and I'm shaking, trying to carry Harry back to someone who can help.
She found Ron soon after, who had recovered enough to help Hermione with their friend. He noticed immediately the numbness in her eyes. He said no words.
Together they walked to safety. Together, linked, but they walked alone.
God oh God oh God oh God whathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone…God oh God
A year and a half later, Hermione sat outside the Gryffindor House. She looked up at the sky and figured it was time that she would normally be waking. Walking back inside, she carried her memories with her.
Everything dark and bleak
There is no turning back now
Please show me mercy…
Breakfast was easy. She just didn't show up. This, in itself wasn't common, but not unusual occurrence. Instead, she took a walk along the grounds before her first class of 6th year Arithmancy students.
Walking slowly, attempting to calm her mind, Hermione was alone. Her friends were here, but, in all, she was alone. Ron was a very happy boy right now, finding that special someone. And Harry, poor Harry, was just a distant as Hermione supposed she was. Except that he didn't try to hide it. Why, she thought, do I try to hide it?
What happened while I was out?
Gradually she became aware of another presence in her walk. In the shadows walked Severus Snape. Neither made any pretense to stop or catch up to each other, nevertheless, it happened. As they approached the Great Hall, they walked together in sorrowful silence. No students were about, and the strange pair went unnoticed, as they took solace in the troubles of their own. Hermione looked at the building, subconsciously turning inwards.
"I believe I will make an appearance at breakfast, Professor Snape." Hermione said graciously, without the smile normally on her face.
Snape nodded briefly, continuing on with his steps.
Teaching is a hectic job, especially towards the end of the year. Hermione, as a student, reveled in the joys of studying for her final exams. As a Professor, however, she began to realize exactly what it entailed; remembering every word spoken in every class, at every level.
Exhausting, that's what it was, and it was exactly what the conversation at breakfast was about. Hermione quietly asked what she should include on her exams, and was met with amusement from the veteran Professors.
"What, you haven't written them yet?" Minerva asked.
"Well, no I haven't," Hermione responded, "I wasn't sure what to include, and what I would exactly teach during the year."
"Surely, you have Arithmancy written, Vector did leave detailed pages and pages of notation," Minerva countered, "Assuming you didn't drift from them, you should be fine. Otherwise, it's just a method of figuring out how to best torture the students."
Hermione smiled weakly, leaning back into her seat until breakfast was over. She ate a little on the oatmeal she'd received. It was slightly bland, but a little cinnamon improved it greatly. Breakfast dragged on, and looking over at Draco, she saw his face. He appeared as though he had been drawn and quartered the night before, instead of at a dinner with his peers. In fact, only Ingrid had a smile on her face, cheerfully asking for the jam. Hermione only wished that she'd occasionally be unhappy…would that be so bad?
Her classes went on as scheduled for the day, with no interruptions from friends. The voices of the past echoed in her mind as she drew the 'Hermione-the-Stern-Teacher' expression on her face. The classes, not really used to Professor Grangers' mood, sat up at attention, unable to act. Arithmancy was easily taken care off for exams, just as Minerva said it would be, so Hermione passed out review sheets. "This is a hard exam for the upper levels," she noted to the students, who gawked at how early she expected them to begin studying.
Muggle Studies, however, was an entirely different problem. Hermione detracted completely from the old plans immensely. Which meant entirely new exams. Which also meant one giant headache that night.
"Well," she spoke to herself, "I could just give them essay tests or projects this year."
---
"It's begun," Ingrid started, sitting down in a plush chair, "the first part of the cycle has started." She closed her eyes, waiting a response.
Her companions chair moved, "Are you sure what we are doing is right Professor Olsson?"
"Unless someone helps them, I don't just fear the worse, Professor, I know that what comes if we don't…it would be dreadful." Ingrid's eyes were still closed, tightly, holding back an emotion pressing against the back of her skull. Her fingernails gripped the armrest of the huge red chair, leaving imprints.
She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Then, Miss Ingrid," Ingrid opened her eyes to see Dumbledore's blue eyes in full twinkle," we continue on."
May 15th
Students, with only a few exceptions, will do anything to avoid classes. Even if your class is about defending yourself again the big bad wizard who wants to blow you to pieces, the student rates the class at the same level as any horrific job, such as cleaning without a wand or destroying a good relationship.
Unless, of course, you were Ellen Knight ford, who was walking with her friends through the crowded corridors of Hogwarts, while reading a book on ancient defensive theories.
"Honestly, Ellen, why do you even bother studying for everything, you're tops!" Ian sneered in her direction, while walking towards the DADA classroom.
"Silly Ian,"
Ellen closed her book, "because I want to make sure that nothing escaped
my head while I slept.
Carla giggled, "Besides
Ian, she might find the answers to life in there."
"She's not in Divination…yet," Ian rolled his eyes and hustled in front of the girls, spying a few Gryffindor girls. Grabbing the door for Ellen and Carla, he smiled a gentleman's smile, "Ladies…" before slamming the door in the gaggle of Gryffindors' faces.
"Childish --" Ellen began.
"But it works." Carla finished, staring at the figure swooping down on Ian.
Professor Malfoy knelt down and tapped Ian on the shoulder. Ian looked up, surprised and shocked as the former Slytherin spoke in his ear, "I'd suggest you'd do that when not in my presence, Mister Beck, otherwise, I would be forced to remove house points. And since Slytherin is currently in second in the standings, I'd work a little harder."
"Yes Professor Malfoy," Ian shook a little and took his seat next to Carla.
"Don't worry, Ian. I thought it was a great little way to annoy those girls," she gave a little smile.
Ellen opened her book again, and waited for class to begin. Professor Malfoy had promised to share a bit over what the exams would be over today, and she had to know what to prepare. Exams were only a few weeks away, and she'd be damned if she didn't do well on them. I owe that much to my father.
Authors Notes: For the sake of the timeline. The past events in this chapter take place 4 years after leaving Hogwarts. Hermione would have been 22 or 23, which would also happen to be our current year. Nearly two years later (2004)
"Aeris Combibo" tends to mean "To suck the air" or something along those lines. The inspiration for that curse happens to come from an RPG I was helping to write. We were trying to come up with spells that killed indirectly. If you suck all the oxygen out of the person, it tends to kill them.
I'd like to give very special thanks to my friends, who have to put up with me sighing over this story, and over the SS/HG ship in general.
To Em and Mike, my fearless betareaders, the former completely understands my obsession with Snape and the latter fears for my sanity. Together they are a rather good team. And I want to thank whoever one day decided to make the CIA quote their .sig, I searched forever to find something apropos for this part.
