12
People on the Subway instinctively gave Snape, and, subsequently, Hermione, a wide birth. It was a crowded train, and the result was almost as if some force field had been enacted around them, six feet in diameter. It meant a rather nice breathing space, but it also meant Hermione had to stay rather closer to his side than she might have preferred, lest she get swept away into the crowd.
Snape was smoking. There were signs posted everywhere-little cartoon cigarette in a big red circle with a line through it, how stupid did they think people were?-and he obviously didn't care. Nobody was going to make a fuss. These people were probably giving themselves muscle strains just trying not to make eye contact. If he hadn't been so frightening just lately, it would have been fun.
He was being oddly careful not to touch her, and she could sense regret, at least, if not apology, as they retreated into a touch of formality.
"I don't know where she lives," she said, trying to fill silence. "But it should be expensive."
"Follow your instinct," he muttered. "We'll manage."
She sighed. "It would be helpful if I could remember her husband's last name." She paused. "Maybe she never told me."
On some unspoken agreement, they exited the train, and then the train station. He waved an arm dramatically. "Pick a direction."
She picked one. It was a huge city, all traffic and neon and grit, and she felt very, very lost. The dark, quiet man at her side was not being very helpful, and she was already developing blisters. It had been a long time since serious physical exertion had been part of her days.
They walked. Occasionally, one of them would make some idle conversation. At one point, Hermione bought a pretzel.
He was not looking well. His shoulders slouched and he looked weaker that he had before. Perhaps...
No. She wasn't going to think about that. He would have to make do.
Hermione tried to stop thinking about Snape. Instead, she thought about Ginny, although her worry at the girl's plight soon shifted to annoyance. What the fuck was the girl playing at, disappearing from family and friends, making sure they couldn't find her? Couldn't she have imagined something like this coming up?
Hermione ground her teeth and continued walking, as the clothes got more expensive and the houses posher, until Snape stopped.
"This feels right," he grumbled. "Perhaps we should try to track her."
Hermione nodded assent, and he pulled out his wand, ducking between two houses, tracing a careful pattern in the air, which shimmered, ever so slightly. Hermione recognized it as a variation on a traditional tracking spell, meant to find someone who doesn't want to be found. The glow became a small, circular sigil about a foot in diameter but shrinking, looking like a very complicated compass rose. It shrank to about two inches across, and landed to hover a few centimeters about Snape's outstretched palm.
He stared at his makeshift magic compass. "We're close," he said, somewhat pleased, and turned slowly in a circle until one point of the compass glowed more strongly than the other three. "That way."
'That way' was simple in theory, but there were complications. Things like houses and fences tended to be in the way, and traveling in a single direction was impossible. As it was, it was nearly half an hour before Snape and Hermione were standing on the steps of a sleek, expensive-looking townhouse, the compass glowing very strongly indeed and pulsing softly.
Snape closed his fist around the glow, extinguishing it and ending the spell.
"Perhaps I should go first," Hermione offered. "On account of..."
"Certainly," he snapped. "Lead the way."
Frowning at him, Hermione took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
Nobody answered.
She knocked again.
Still, the door remained unquestionably closed.
"Perhaps she's not home?"
"The spell would not have led us here had she not been in. Perhaps she's seen us."
The 'us' made Hermione want to snicker. After all, who would be entirely pleased with their old Potions teacher showing up on their doorstep? But she knocked again, louder.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," said a bright, female voice, and the door opened to reveal Ginny Weasley.
Ginny Weasley, although not quite as Hermione remembered her, with expensive strawberry-blonde highlights in her copper hair, Prada sandals and a dress that had probably been about three hundred dollars too expensive for seventeen cents worth of skimpy floral chiffon.
"Hermione Granger!" she exclaimed, in a voice of delight that sounded entirely too practiced. "It's lovely to see you, really it is, but I have a date for lunch and I'm running late...really, what are you doing here, and..." She trailed off. Ginny had caught sight of Snape.
She went white, underneath her tasteful bronzer and stylish freckles.
"Ginny, can we come in? You're in danger," Hermione said gently.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I really do have to run. I've been promising Marco I'd have lunch with him for -ages- and he really would be -so- disappointed. I will certainly have to meet up with you later though, perhaps breakfast tomorrow...no, I'm sure I'm supposed to see Lyla. Maybe dinner...no, there's a gallery opening. But you really should stop by sometime...isn't he supposed to be dead?"
"He is," Hermione said, exchanging a surreptitious glance with Snape.
"Oh," said Ginny, momentarily taken about, but she found her bearing quickly enough. "You will -have- to tell me all about it. But I'm late you see, and the poor boy will think I don't like him, and really he is just so adorable..."
"Ginny, what happened to your husband?"
Ginny laughed, brightly, an extremely irritating sound. "Oh, Andriano? I didn't tell you? It really didn't last. Oh, he was sweet, really he was-"
Snape, to Hermione's everlasting gratitude, cut her off. "Perhaps later, Miss Weasley." He managed to make eye contact. "May we come in?" The words rearranged themselves into: We May Come In.
"Of course, of course. Marco can wait," she said numbly. "It's still Mrs. Delaney, though. It was too nice a name to pass up. Weasley was just so..." she searched for a word.
"Passé?" Hermione offered sarcastically.
"Oh, yes, that's it exactly," Ginny said. "I'm sorry I haven't written often, Hermione dear, but I just seem to be so busy here. This country is delightful, you know. Give them an accent and they just -fawn- over you." She smiled. "Not that I mind."
"Weasley, we think the Death Eaters are going to attack you," Snape said bluntly.
It snapped Ginny out of her brainlessness, although just a little. Her hands rose to her mouth. "Oh, no. That can't be! That's all been over for years!"
"Obviously, it has not."
"No," she said firmly. "I don't believe you. Hermione, why did you bring him here? Why is he telling me this? I just want all that mess to stay back in England, where it belongs. Why are you here? Why isn't Snape dead?"
"I'm here because I'm trying to help you," Hermione said sharply, annoyed, despite herself, of how callous Ginny was being to her companion. "And Snape -is- dead. He's a vampire."
Ginny looked, slowly, at Vampire-Snape, as if for the first time. And she fainted.
"If she'd stayed in England," Snape said dourly. "where she obviously left her brain, this would have been a lot easier."
Hermione nodded.
People on the Subway instinctively gave Snape, and, subsequently, Hermione, a wide birth. It was a crowded train, and the result was almost as if some force field had been enacted around them, six feet in diameter. It meant a rather nice breathing space, but it also meant Hermione had to stay rather closer to his side than she might have preferred, lest she get swept away into the crowd.
Snape was smoking. There were signs posted everywhere-little cartoon cigarette in a big red circle with a line through it, how stupid did they think people were?-and he obviously didn't care. Nobody was going to make a fuss. These people were probably giving themselves muscle strains just trying not to make eye contact. If he hadn't been so frightening just lately, it would have been fun.
He was being oddly careful not to touch her, and she could sense regret, at least, if not apology, as they retreated into a touch of formality.
"I don't know where she lives," she said, trying to fill silence. "But it should be expensive."
"Follow your instinct," he muttered. "We'll manage."
She sighed. "It would be helpful if I could remember her husband's last name." She paused. "Maybe she never told me."
On some unspoken agreement, they exited the train, and then the train station. He waved an arm dramatically. "Pick a direction."
She picked one. It was a huge city, all traffic and neon and grit, and she felt very, very lost. The dark, quiet man at her side was not being very helpful, and she was already developing blisters. It had been a long time since serious physical exertion had been part of her days.
They walked. Occasionally, one of them would make some idle conversation. At one point, Hermione bought a pretzel.
He was not looking well. His shoulders slouched and he looked weaker that he had before. Perhaps...
No. She wasn't going to think about that. He would have to make do.
Hermione tried to stop thinking about Snape. Instead, she thought about Ginny, although her worry at the girl's plight soon shifted to annoyance. What the fuck was the girl playing at, disappearing from family and friends, making sure they couldn't find her? Couldn't she have imagined something like this coming up?
Hermione ground her teeth and continued walking, as the clothes got more expensive and the houses posher, until Snape stopped.
"This feels right," he grumbled. "Perhaps we should try to track her."
Hermione nodded assent, and he pulled out his wand, ducking between two houses, tracing a careful pattern in the air, which shimmered, ever so slightly. Hermione recognized it as a variation on a traditional tracking spell, meant to find someone who doesn't want to be found. The glow became a small, circular sigil about a foot in diameter but shrinking, looking like a very complicated compass rose. It shrank to about two inches across, and landed to hover a few centimeters about Snape's outstretched palm.
He stared at his makeshift magic compass. "We're close," he said, somewhat pleased, and turned slowly in a circle until one point of the compass glowed more strongly than the other three. "That way."
'That way' was simple in theory, but there were complications. Things like houses and fences tended to be in the way, and traveling in a single direction was impossible. As it was, it was nearly half an hour before Snape and Hermione were standing on the steps of a sleek, expensive-looking townhouse, the compass glowing very strongly indeed and pulsing softly.
Snape closed his fist around the glow, extinguishing it and ending the spell.
"Perhaps I should go first," Hermione offered. "On account of..."
"Certainly," he snapped. "Lead the way."
Frowning at him, Hermione took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.
Nobody answered.
She knocked again.
Still, the door remained unquestionably closed.
"Perhaps she's not home?"
"The spell would not have led us here had she not been in. Perhaps she's seen us."
The 'us' made Hermione want to snicker. After all, who would be entirely pleased with their old Potions teacher showing up on their doorstep? But she knocked again, louder.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," said a bright, female voice, and the door opened to reveal Ginny Weasley.
Ginny Weasley, although not quite as Hermione remembered her, with expensive strawberry-blonde highlights in her copper hair, Prada sandals and a dress that had probably been about three hundred dollars too expensive for seventeen cents worth of skimpy floral chiffon.
"Hermione Granger!" she exclaimed, in a voice of delight that sounded entirely too practiced. "It's lovely to see you, really it is, but I have a date for lunch and I'm running late...really, what are you doing here, and..." She trailed off. Ginny had caught sight of Snape.
She went white, underneath her tasteful bronzer and stylish freckles.
"Ginny, can we come in? You're in danger," Hermione said gently.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but I really do have to run. I've been promising Marco I'd have lunch with him for -ages- and he really would be -so- disappointed. I will certainly have to meet up with you later though, perhaps breakfast tomorrow...no, I'm sure I'm supposed to see Lyla. Maybe dinner...no, there's a gallery opening. But you really should stop by sometime...isn't he supposed to be dead?"
"He is," Hermione said, exchanging a surreptitious glance with Snape.
"Oh," said Ginny, momentarily taken about, but she found her bearing quickly enough. "You will -have- to tell me all about it. But I'm late you see, and the poor boy will think I don't like him, and really he is just so adorable..."
"Ginny, what happened to your husband?"
Ginny laughed, brightly, an extremely irritating sound. "Oh, Andriano? I didn't tell you? It really didn't last. Oh, he was sweet, really he was-"
Snape, to Hermione's everlasting gratitude, cut her off. "Perhaps later, Miss Weasley." He managed to make eye contact. "May we come in?" The words rearranged themselves into: We May Come In.
"Of course, of course. Marco can wait," she said numbly. "It's still Mrs. Delaney, though. It was too nice a name to pass up. Weasley was just so..." she searched for a word.
"Passé?" Hermione offered sarcastically.
"Oh, yes, that's it exactly," Ginny said. "I'm sorry I haven't written often, Hermione dear, but I just seem to be so busy here. This country is delightful, you know. Give them an accent and they just -fawn- over you." She smiled. "Not that I mind."
"Weasley, we think the Death Eaters are going to attack you," Snape said bluntly.
It snapped Ginny out of her brainlessness, although just a little. Her hands rose to her mouth. "Oh, no. That can't be! That's all been over for years!"
"Obviously, it has not."
"No," she said firmly. "I don't believe you. Hermione, why did you bring him here? Why is he telling me this? I just want all that mess to stay back in England, where it belongs. Why are you here? Why isn't Snape dead?"
"I'm here because I'm trying to help you," Hermione said sharply, annoyed, despite herself, of how callous Ginny was being to her companion. "And Snape -is- dead. He's a vampire."
Ginny looked, slowly, at Vampire-Snape, as if for the first time. And she fainted.
"If she'd stayed in England," Snape said dourly. "where she obviously left her brain, this would have been a lot easier."
Hermione nodded.