Escape
With an odd-feeling, painful pang in her chest, Hermione realized that she had changed settings. Her mind buzzed from the sudden shock and her eyes strained to adjust to the deeper darks and the bright, silvery light that glowed around the Pensieve. Her perception of time and place were confused, mixed with the mottled colors of Dumbledore's office and the intense feelings that were concocted by falling onto the cold, hard floor of the West Wing. She shut her eyes trying to focus and remember.
Snape's voice was cold, reserved. Hermione was reluctant to pry open her eyelids. "May I ask, Miss Granger, what you are doing here?"
Hermione didn't know how to answer. His voice frightened her, and it held a feeling that she had never detected in him before. It was a mix, a plethora, of emotions: anger, agitation, and, oddest of all, fear. He sounded strained, as if he had to force himself to speak.
"I suggest that you answer me."
Hermione finally mustered the courage to open her eyes into too tiny slivers, gazing steadily at the floor. She could see his shoes, shiny black and reflecting the silver of the Pensieve, and the dim outline of the buttons on the cuffs of his trousers. She focused on the button that rested near his left ankle, trying to picture him as the human that she knew lived somewhere under the volumes of robes and clothing. She couldn't.
"I'm sorry," she attempted, letting her hair shield her face from his eyes.
He was unmoved. "I did not ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation."
"I…I was curious," Hermione answered, bracing herself against the floor and expecting his foot to come flying to her jaw any second. She hated how ridiculous she sounded. The awaited contact did not come. "I couldn't sleep, and the door was open."
She heard something muttered, almost sighed, but couldn't make it out and assumed that it was a swear. "What did you see?"
She decided that she should tell the truth, he knew her too well, and he would be able to tell if she was lying. Bringing her knees forward, she levered herself into a kneeling position and pushed her bushy hair behind her ears. Her eyes began to sting and her throat contracted. Her mind was shadowed with fear.
"You were speaking with Dumbledore," she said quietly. Snape leaned forward intently, listening. His larger presence made her even more nervous and she felt trapped like a gnome between Crookshanks's paws. But if she cried out for help, no one would be able to rescue her from his claws. "I didn't quite understand what was going on."
His words were quiet, venomous and painful. It suddenly became very cold, and Hermione couldn't help but feel that the house could sense his feelings and change accordingly. If so, no wonder it was always so gloomy. A mist of silvery breath escaped from her mouth and floated up through the darkness, slightly muting the sharp angles of his face before disappearing.
"Get out."
She fell back on her heels, trying to edge away. A word slipped out of her mouth, and she immediately sensed that it would have been better not to say it. "What?"
"Get out of my home."
She scrambled toward the door, grasping her wand firmly and tugging it out from the rough belt of her bathrobe. A variety of feelings flung through her mind: she felt helpless, naked, and, above all, afraid. Among all these things was the strongest urge she'd ever felt possible, the urge to run.
She found her way to her feet somehow, and tried not to flinch at the pain of the pounds of her bare feet against the hard stone. A searching chill flew underneath her bathrobe and swirled around her legs and chest, mocking her with spirals of air in free breaths.
Ridiculous, ashamed.
She found her way to the entrance hall and ran for the entrance, prying on the high doorknocker and waiting for the door to open. The heavy, high and menacing door refused to budge. She struck her fists against it, quickly rubbing her skin raw and bruising the edges of her hands, knowing that when she took the time to look at them, their color would be unrecognizable.
"Open, damn it!" she screamed, attempting to kick it and yelping when her bare toe careened with the foot of the unyielding door.
As if they only answered to a vocal command, the doors finally and slowly creaked open with a deep groan. As soon as the gap was wide enough she squeezed through.
She didn't take the time to think over what she had left behind, nor of her poor forgotten cat or lack of clothing, nor the fact that small, white crystals were falling from a burgundy sky, clinging to rocks, bristles, and branches. All she could feel were the dark eyes burning into her as she ran down the gravel road, cutting the bottoms of her feet but ignoring all that was around her.
Only one emotion made sense, and that was fear.
How many ways could Snape kill her? Maybe he was giving her a head start, not as a show of mercy but instead a game of cat and mouse. Crookshanks versus gnome. She was a dead woman.
There was always the standard Avada Kadavra, or the less merciful Cruciatus and an Avada to finish the job. She hadn't seen a river on the property, so drowning wasn't a possibility. Perhaps he would be more creative and charm a suit of armor to chase after her. A werewolf chasing her in the darkness. A house elf bent on revenge.
She was freezing, but her legs still functioned and they functioned well. As long as they could carry her somewhere, she would follow.
She slowed when she reached the gate, her tattered feet sore and her legs below the bathrobe on the verge of numbness. The gates were shut, a lofty chain strung between the bars with an ominous lock hanging ominously, mocking her. She then realized that it was snowing. In the middle of summer.
Something was severely wrong with Snape's land.
She didn't take the time to consider it. Responding to the touch of her hands, the bars spread wide and allowed her through. Eyes watering and hairs pricked on the back of her neck, Hermione slipped, half-dressed, into the woods on a balmy summer night.
Not for the first time that night, and certainly not for the last, Hermione felt like a fool. It was at least five miles to the Reynold house, and she was sitting up against a tree on the edge of a road in a filthy bathrobe and too upset to Apparate. Splinching was not something she would risk, especially in the middle of the night when there would be no one to rescue and reassemble her.
The moonlight cast a blue glow on fallen leaves of the deepest green. Stars freckled the sky above her, twinkling down at her with winks of broken promises. The trees were silent and sturdy, towering far above her like ancient protectors. These were trees like the ones on the Hogwarts grounds; different, older than those in the Muggle world. She could feel the life.
She waited for nothing. Each second was a second wasted, with her mind refusing to move from its position, determined on fusing her eyes on idle objects that limited thought. Even thinking of poetry would have been preferable. But there was nothing, blackness.
How could she get home? And if she arrived at home, what was there for her?
She shrugged off her bathrobe, modesty failing to make an impression on her practical mind, and nestled comfortably in the leaves, taking the time to charm her hair to repel insects. The charm almost resulted in setting her hair on fire, and she realized that if she could barely succeed in simple spells, there was no possibility of Disapparating in one piece.
No matter how much she denied it, her nerves were in a fragile state, and could easily be broken.
She transfigured her robe into a flannel blanket and spread it over herself, relaxing into the soft earth would a mournful sigh. Trying to keep from sniffling, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
She had not been asleep for long. The moon had hardly moved, and the blanket had not slipped away, revealing her vulnerable form to the elements. She hugged her transformed bathrobe closer to her body, teeth chattering, and wondered what had woken her.
An impact term.
It was distant, but approaching quickly. It sounded like a series of small, distant explosions, but she knew better. The reverberations were gradual and at a set rate, with a gate in which steps were far apart.
The thing that was making the noise, whatever it was, was huge. It almost dragged along as though its limbs were too large for its body and dragged, dangling from its heels, onto the ground. The sound was distinctly familiar, but also, at the same time, vague. She couldn't place it, but it reminded her of…
Halloween night, her first year at Hogwarts. She had been sobbing in the girls' loo over something her best friend/prat Ron had said, though she could not now recall what his words had been, and had heard the same sound coming closer to the oversized, unlocked door…
Brilliant. There was a troll in Snape's woods.
The polished wood of her wand gleamed in the moonlight as she took it into her hand, for some unexplainable reason taking the time to transfigure her bathrobe into its original state. The sound grew closer, louder, and the ground and leaves trembled in fear beneath her. She didn't know what direction it was coming from, it seemed to be all around her. There was no door in the woods through which it could barge. At least the trees could provide better protection than the sinks.
Hiding would do no good, since she didn't know where it was coming from. Climbing a tree would make her an easier target for the monster's heavy club. Holding her wand out in front of her, like the dear Professor Lockhart had taught her once as the defensive stance, her eyes darted around in search of quick movements. She had to keep reminding herself that she was dealing with a slow, dim-witted troll, not a group of rowdy, crass Death Eaters.
Unfortunately, the troll appeared from the worst area, making its arrival known by slamming its club into the tree that Hermione was leaning up against. She fell forward, coughing from the blow and trying to regain her balance but failing miserably. She scrambled through the trees as fast as she could on her hands and knees, trying to escape being stepped on by the yet unseen monster. Leaves clung to her hair and damp skin, making her burning and shivering body itch uncontrollably.
She reared around and ducked behind a tree, just in time to see a club smash down into the mud with a sickening wham! The monster behind it was massive, and she could see its outline glowing dimly in the moonlight. It was at least fifteen feet tall with a knobby head and hands which, one clenched on the club and one in the air waving about, appeared to have too many knuckles. It slimy-looking skin shone a sickly green-blue.
A glimmer from the troll's chest caught her eye. It was gold and appeared to be some sort of lapel pin, though he was wearing no shirt. Dodging another weakening blow from the troll's club, she scrambled under a tree root and screamed "Accio badge!"
The troll screamed in pain, whirling around with arms flailing in the air, looking for its source. Hermione clamped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the deafening, screeching sound, and the badge fell in front of her within arm's reach. She grasped it in her free hand, noticing too late that it was covered in troll blood. It hadn't been a removable badge; it was a part of the troll's chest. She grimaced in temporary sympathy and wiped it in the grass, thankful for the time the distracted troll was allowing her to read. She did have her priorities straight, after all.
A weak lumos and another cleaning later, Hermione was able to make out the words "Snape Manor - Patrol" framed by what she assumed to be the Snape family crest.
The bloody thing worked for him. She had to give him points for creative merit, but couldn't he have chosen a less painful way for her to die?
Hermione threw the badge at the troll's feet. She was panting and her heard was beating like a jackrabbit's and with her lack of sleep and day's excitement, she felt like she might pass out very, very soon.
Thinking that her best bet against the troll would be his own weapon, she pointed her wand at his club and shouted "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The club merely attempted to tug away from his hand, but the troll held it firm, searching around with dim eyes for his prey.
"Stupefy!" The spell barely affected him. Instead of falling to the ground, drooling and unconscious, he merely stood, dazed, shook his head, and let out a frustrated groan.
Besides being frightened enough to wet herself, Hermione was also slightly embarrassed. Ron could take on a full-sized mountain troll when he was eleven, and she couldn't take one on after she had graduated? She was Hermione Granger, for heaven's sake.
The troll stumbled over to her side of the tree, almost drunkenly, with his club slung over his shoulder. He gazed around in search for her, confused, and spotted her with hazy eyes. He began to approach.
She backed up against the tree, bark rubbing against the calves of her bare legs, and breathed shallowly, praying that it would leave her alone.
It peered closely at her, almost examining her like a scientist. Its glossy eyes narrowed into two slits and its mouth puckered off to its side in contemplation. Scratching his head with his club, he reached over.
And grabbed the wand out of her hand, immediately snapping it into two distinct pieces. Hermione cried out as part of her was lost, vaporized in a puff of purple smoke. It fell feebly to the ground. Helpless, she closed her eyes, deepening her thought and praying deeper, wishing that someone would save her.
Now it was playing with her. The club smashed into the tree just a meter above her head, cracking it in half and sprawling the branches on the ground. She stammered forward and ducked under the troll's legs, holding her breath as a ghastly stench overwhelmed her. It bent down and watched as she ran, hiding, dodging, hoping, wishing, and fighting off tears.
She turned to see it stamp for her, heavy limbs beating the ground with an uneven beat, and she could see the gleam of blood on the thing's broad chest. Purple steam was quickly filling the empty space, putrid fumes and glittering dust filling her lungs. She coughed twice and her eyes watered horribly from the wasted magic.
Another sickening thud came from the end of the troll's club, sounding like a Bludger colliding with a Seeker's skull. She felt nothing - no shuddering of the objects that shielded her, no vibration of the ground - instead, she heard a loud, pained groan that wasn't monstrous but human.
A growl, gritted with an edge that only torture could give. "Dormara!!"
There was silence, foreboding and dizzying, and Hermione brushed her bushy, soiled hair behind her hair and listened. A leaf fluttered to the ground, landing as lightly as a butterfly on her tattered, bleeding left foot.
The dust and smog began to clear and the glittering remains of her wand faded into the moonlit night. As it cleared she saw its outline glinting, the bulky form of the troll like an enlarged Goyle. It was staring at her dimly, unmoving.
Not moving at all.
There was a groan, from her left and quite human. It was followed quickly by a gasp of pain.
Hermione snapped her head to the side just in time to see Snape, bracing himself a sapling and staring at her with the expression of a dying man, the sleeve of his trouser grasped tightly in his white hand, close his eyes and topple lifelessly to the ground.
Thanks to: Joshua Glass (she's still sort of a student, but not strictly. Snape is more of her tutor now than her teacher...well, he's supposed to be, anyway. That hasn't really worked out well, yet), M'cha Araem, Satern Mya, aNNiie sNapez (you guys are going to make me fat...virtually, anyway), HunnySnowBunny, yeoldecrazy1 (yes, it will become clearer in future chapters. I would be upset if everyone knew what it was about right now :). What keeps people reading is the mystery, is it not?), Anarane Anwamane, c[R]ud[E]dly, krisleigh, Chibidaima, Luna Writer, Aindel S. Druida (is it so?), Cow as White as Milk, Athena Keating-Thomas (I usually like polite!Snape, too, but thinking back to canon, I don't think that the Snape who practically called her a whining, pathetic, unattractive wretch of a girl would carry her luggage. Yet, anyway :)), Lady Katrina, Zvezdana, PixXy , Zephyre, Music, and kLyn.
And, as always, to my lovely beta Laiagarien.