Summary: An unexpected visit brings unexpected and unwanted memories back to Hermione. Will she go back to the world that she swore to stay away from, or will she face her past and heal old wounds?
Disclaimer: Although I am obsessed with Harry Potter and Co., I do not own them. Although I wish I could have just one pay check from JK Rowling, I don't get any money from them. I promise to be nice and play gently with them, since they are not mine.
Where We Live
Prologue
The ash stung her eyes and burned her nose. The ruins of what was once one of the most treasured alley in Britain, Diagon Alley, smoldered around her. She stumbled on the cobble street, blood, and sweat dripping from her. "Harry...Ron, where are you?" she choked. The futility of her search never entered her mind, she knew she would find them, and together, they would make their peace with this god forsaken war.
Lifeless bodies slumped against the ruins, while others, lay amongst the rubble. Blood stained the ground, turning the ash into a black tar. The heat and light from the fires barely made any impact through the thickness of the dust, ash, and soot filling the air. Her lungs, on fire from the debris she was inhaling, felt like they were closing, not allowing her to breathe. "Please, Harry, answer me...I need you," she cried. "I need you." She continued to stagger in one direction, praying, that someone would find her or she would find them. The pain from her wounds, just now beginning to make itself known, was hindering her ability to think straight. Knowing that she needed to heal the wounds, but not being able to do so, as she had no way of cleansing them, gave her the incentive to continue until she found safe shelter. She would not let those bastards kill her too. They had killed too many innocents. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. No, they would not kill Hermione Granger; she was too stubborn for that.
She dragged herself through the war zone, blood and sweat drenching her, allowing the ash to stick to her body, searching for a familiar sight. The alley, or what was left of it, was deserted. She could hear the faint moaning of the dead and injured, smell the acrid stench of burning flesh. She knew that the war was over, what she didn't know was whether or not the plan had succeeded.
She continued to wander in what she hoped was the direction of safety, if there was such a thing, not knowing what or who was waiting for her past the thickness of the air. Her head was becoming light and her breathing more difficult, as she continued to stumble in search of help. Her vision cloudy from tears and ash, she didn't see the figure staggering in her direction.
"Miss Granger..." she thought that she heard her name, but knew that it was too much to hope for. She had given up on hope, there was no hope, if there were, she and her friends wouldn't have been dragged into this damn war. They were only seventeen, for Christ sakes. Seventeen. Teenagers. They had no business in war. They should have been planning their graduation, worried only about who would dance with whom at the next ball, NOT who was going to cover whose backs in war, or how to defend yourself against the Unforgivables. No, there was no hope, no real future, because she was damaged goods.
"Miss Granger..." she swore she was hearing things. The ash and dust was so thick, her eyes burned, she could not see the figure heading her way.
"Miss Granger, is that you?" the voice asked, thick with emotion and smoke. The figure continued to stumble in her direction, clearly wounded and barely maintaining a semi-stable gait.
"Professor? Oh God, Professor Snape, is that you?" she choked, hardly believing that he of all people survived this damned attack. She tried to rush towards him, tripping on the debris that covered the ground. "Professor, where is everyone?"
Disclaimer: Although I am obsessed with Harry Potter and Co., I do not own them. Although I wish I could have just one pay check from JK Rowling, I don't get any money from them. I promise to be nice and play gently with them, since they are not mine.
Where We Live
Prologue
The ash stung her eyes and burned her nose. The ruins of what was once one of the most treasured alley in Britain, Diagon Alley, smoldered around her. She stumbled on the cobble street, blood, and sweat dripping from her. "Harry...Ron, where are you?" she choked. The futility of her search never entered her mind, she knew she would find them, and together, they would make their peace with this god forsaken war.
Lifeless bodies slumped against the ruins, while others, lay amongst the rubble. Blood stained the ground, turning the ash into a black tar. The heat and light from the fires barely made any impact through the thickness of the dust, ash, and soot filling the air. Her lungs, on fire from the debris she was inhaling, felt like they were closing, not allowing her to breathe. "Please, Harry, answer me...I need you," she cried. "I need you." She continued to stagger in one direction, praying, that someone would find her or she would find them. The pain from her wounds, just now beginning to make itself known, was hindering her ability to think straight. Knowing that she needed to heal the wounds, but not being able to do so, as she had no way of cleansing them, gave her the incentive to continue until she found safe shelter. She would not let those bastards kill her too. They had killed too many innocents. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. No, they would not kill Hermione Granger; she was too stubborn for that.
She dragged herself through the war zone, blood and sweat drenching her, allowing the ash to stick to her body, searching for a familiar sight. The alley, or what was left of it, was deserted. She could hear the faint moaning of the dead and injured, smell the acrid stench of burning flesh. She knew that the war was over, what she didn't know was whether or not the plan had succeeded.
She continued to wander in what she hoped was the direction of safety, if there was such a thing, not knowing what or who was waiting for her past the thickness of the air. Her head was becoming light and her breathing more difficult, as she continued to stumble in search of help. Her vision cloudy from tears and ash, she didn't see the figure staggering in her direction.
"Miss Granger..." she thought that she heard her name, but knew that it was too much to hope for. She had given up on hope, there was no hope, if there were, she and her friends wouldn't have been dragged into this damn war. They were only seventeen, for Christ sakes. Seventeen. Teenagers. They had no business in war. They should have been planning their graduation, worried only about who would dance with whom at the next ball, NOT who was going to cover whose backs in war, or how to defend yourself against the Unforgivables. No, there was no hope, no real future, because she was damaged goods.
"Miss Granger..." she swore she was hearing things. The ash and dust was so thick, her eyes burned, she could not see the figure heading her way.
"Miss Granger, is that you?" the voice asked, thick with emotion and smoke. The figure continued to stumble in her direction, clearly wounded and barely maintaining a semi-stable gait.
"Professor? Oh God, Professor Snape, is that you?" she choked, hardly believing that he of all people survived this damned attack. She tried to rush towards him, tripping on the debris that covered the ground. "Professor, where is everyone?"