Chapter 4: You Must Be Joking!

Lucius Malfoy was furious. Beyond furious actually. The last thing he remembered was that damn Snape woman flinging herself at him like some kind of deranged harpy, throwing them both against the cauldron he had been blocking. He had been covered in the viscous fluid just as she had. Angrily, he had decided to forego trying to capture the woman like Lord Voldemort had instructed. She deserved to die just like the rest of Hogwarts' pitiful defenders. Then before he could even finish his curse she had disappeared in a flash of blinding light. Still reeling with the shock of what had happened, Lucius had barely noticed when his own skin had started to glow.

Now, Lucius found himself standing in what he vaguely recognized to be the foyer of his own manor. If that was indeed where he was, though, his house elves were going to pay dearly. Every piece of furniture and all of his pictures and tapestries were covered in dust clothes. The house looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. Lucius started to get the niggling feeling that something was amiss. He had apparated from this very spot a few hours earlier and it hadn't looked anything like this.

"Reely!" he called loudly to his house elf. He glanced around, expecting the creature to appear immediately. When it did not he yelled again, calling out the names of his other servants. After a few minutes he knew that he wasn't going to get an answer. This house was deserted.

Lucius pulled out his wand. Pushing up his sleeve he touched it to the tattoo on his left forearm and whispered the spell that would allow him to contact the Dark Lord. Shockingly, nothing happened. Lucius then tried to apparate using the Dark Mark. When that failed he became more suspicious. It had to be something that Snape woman had done. Maybe something to do with that potion she had pushed him into. He knew he should have killed the little bitch when he'd had the chance. She would pay for toying with him in his moment of triumph.

Out of contact as he was, Lucius decided against apparating back to Hogwarts. Call it instinct, but he got the feeling that there was more to this situation than met the eye. He would need to be cautious until he knew what that potion had done to him. Casting a Disillusionment charm to blur his more salient features, Lucius decided to go to Knockturn Alley. He needed information and there wasn't a better place to get it than there. Then, once he knew what was going on, he would find Mrs. Snape and make her pay.

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The quarters Dumbledore had given her were airy and comfortable. They were also hideously overdone in red and gold. Grimacing, Hermione brandished her wand, happy that the Headmaster apparently trusted her enough to give it back, and quickly set about charming the decorations to more muted colours. Even as proud a Gryffindor as she was, she and Severus had long ago decided to go the middle ground concerning decorating. Their quarters had been a soothing mixture of neutral and earthy colours that Hermione found herself missing immensely. Finally, after about ten minutes of judiciously applied charms, her quarters began to look more acceptable.

The rooms were small, as would befit a single person. There was a tidy den with several bookshelves (unfortunately empty) and a cheerfully crackling fireplace. Hermione had transfigured one of the chairs into a loveseat as she preferred more room to spread out. There was also a small desk in the corner that she was sure she would be using intensely while researching the Latere potion. She wondered if she would have as much difficulty finding resource materials in this world as she'd had in her own. She doubted it. The Dark Lord had been the one to destroy many of the important texts over the years. Seeing as he had been defeated so early on here, many of those texts had probably survived. She would need to speak with Albus concerning her research needs.

Satisfied with the changes she had made to the den, Hermione moved into the bedroom. There was still an overabundance of red and gold but she could deal with that later. She was tired and the décor wouldn't really bother her while she was sleeping. On the upside, the bathroom was already done in neutral colours so there wouldn't be a need to change anything. With another flick of her wand, Hermione set a bath to running. Sighing, she turned her attention to the mirror above the sink. She studied her reflection acutely. The stress of the past few years was written clearly upon her face. Dark circles under her eyes bespoke of many sleepless nights; the gauntness in her cheeks betrayed her irregular eating habits.

She looked critically over her figure as she disrobed. She had several scars running down her too thin frame from duels she had stumbled into throughout the years. At twenty-three years old her body had seen more abuse than it should have. As, her hands traced the faint scar on her side from the battle, Hermione acknowledge that she was lucky to be in as good a shape as she was. Madam Pomfrey had healed her wounds from that day, leaving her looking no worse for wear.

She winced as she directed her gaze upwards to the bushy mess that was her hair. She had done nothing more than run a brush through it in days and it was suffering for it. Quickly, Hermione turned from her reflection and stepped into the bath. Her reminiscences had brought up a memory of her husband's complete infatuation with her hair. He had always marvelled over its body and wildness, constantly degrading his own limp locks by comparison. Hermione had always laughingly told him that she would be glad to trade with him. She could still remember the time he had wrestled her to the bed as she laughed hysterically at the thought of her dark husband with a head of raucous brown curls. Hermione smiled at the thought as she relaxed into the water but quickly sobered even as the stress of the past few days left her body. Every happy memory that she had of her past was eclipsed by a dozen painful ones.

Tiredly, Hermione set about washing her hair. The day was still early and she was resolved not to waste any of it in mourning. She was now almost completely sure of her alternate reality theory; what she couldn't come to terms with was how the Latere potion had been able to transport her. Hopefully, she would be able to find a copy of the manuscript in which she had originally found the potion. Most of her early studies had been done in haste with Severus constantly standing over her shoulder. They had been desperate for anything that could save Harry, so when they stumbled upon the Latere potion they hadn't questioned how it would work. Nor had they been particularly worried about the fact that the notes they had were incomplete. She hoped she would be able to uncover more complete notes concerning the potion's properties in this reality. Briefly she toyed with the idea of returning to her own reality if she could replicate the potion, but quickly set aside that idea as she remembered that she had nothing to go back to. Even if she could return to warn the others of their defeat, they would still be unable to change anything. There were less than a dozen members of the Order still living; she simply had to hope that they had been able to disappear and stay safe.

The idea of defeat simply didn't sit well with Hermione, but she was quickly beginning to learn to live with it. No, she wouldn't return home even if she could. She knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Albus was right. She had to live so that the sacrifices the others had made would have meaning. Moreover, she got the feeling from a few remarks that Albus had made that there were many here who would be thrilled with the idea of seeing her alive again. Certainly, Hermione was delighted at the prospect of seeing Harry, Minerva and the others alive, and even more importantly, happy. The prospect of seeing Ron almost sent her into another crying jag. He had been dead for so long, and Hermione was overwhelmed at the idea of seeing him alive and well. She wondered idly what kind of adult he had grown to be and if he was married or had children.

Unfortunately, thoughts of seeing her friends brought her back to the rather perplexing challenge of how she was going to deal with one Severus Snape. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to deal with her husband as one might a stranger. Of course, she reminded herself firmly, he's not your husband. She wondered if he was the same bitter man that she had known as a student. Her Severus, while still as sarcastic and volatile as ever, had softened during his marriage to her. She had been witness to gentleness and warmth in him that, truth be told, she was glad no one else had ever seen. Now she would have to figure out how to deal with this man who served as a constant reminder of her loss. Sensibly, she figured it would probably be for the best if she simply tried to avoid and ignore him.

Relaxed, clean and hair suitably under control, Hermione hauled herself out of the bathtub and began to get ready. She found the wardrobe in the bedroom stocked with a few nondescript items of clothing. She picked out a simple dark green jersey dress and slipped a non-descript black robe over it. With a quick drying charm to her hair she headed out her door to the library.

Heeding the Headmaster's warning concerning being seen, Hermione kept to the shadows of the now empty halls. She figured she was safe enough what with most of the students absent due to the holiday, and she should be able to avoid anyone else by staying to the more remote corridors. Upon reaching the library, Hermione was relieved to seethat the hawk-eyed Madam Pince was not at her desk. She quickly gathered a few choice tomes and settled herself into a quiet corner. She hoped that Albus would reveal her identity sooner rather than later simply so she wouldn't have to sneak around to do her research. She could deal with the backlash of having her identity revealed if it meant a chance to start her new life here.

Hermione soon forgot all about her problems as she began to research. Occasionally, she would mutter and proceed to scribble something on the parchment in front of her. She was so deep into her research that she didn't notice the occasional student moving around the library throughout the course of the day. Unfortunately, she also didn't notice the figure in black that watched her surreptitiously. Finally, she was roused from her studies by the change in lighting from the windows above her. She was a little shocked to realize that it was evening already. Hermione sat back with a small groan, muscles sore from hunching over the books. Standing she glanced around to make sure was no one was in the area. Seeing nobody, she gathered up her reading materials and took them over to the cart for Madam Pince to shelve.

Hermione turned to leave, but suddenly got the feeling that she was being watched. She paused, glancing around the empty room. She tried to shake off the feeling as nerves but found that she simply couldn't. Instead, she decided that it would be best if she just went back to her rooms. As she turned to go, she found herself face to face with darkness.

Or rather, the cloth covered chest of Severus Snape. Startled, Hermione backed up a couple of steps, raising her eyes to look at his face. She was a little disconcerted as she noted the menacing look there; he clearly wasn't happy to see her.

"Did… did Albus send you to find me?" she asked tentatively. Snape merely raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her question.

"Albus is it? You seem terribly familiar with the Headmaster, Miss…?"

"Sn-Granger." Hermione snapped. "I'm sure Albus has told you about my circumstances." She was growing quickly irritated at his attitude. She intimately knew exactly what he was trying to do. This Snape may not be her husband, but she bet that they were similar enough that she could see right through him.

"Yes," he sneered, sensing her aggravation. "He's told me all about your ridiculous theories. I don't believe them for one second and I certainly don't believe that a potion was responsible. You know, you really should have determined if there was a Potions Master around before you used that particularly idiotic lie."

Hermione refused to be goaded by the man standing in front of her. She could tell that he simply meant to protect the Headmaster and the school from any potential harm. His suspicious nature unfortunately meant that he wouldn't be nearly as willing to believe her as Dumbledore had. Calmly, she responded, "Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. I had hoped that I would be able to ask for your help investigating the potion. I can see now that you aren't the least bit interested. I appreciate your concern for the school, but I assure you that I'm no threat. I would suggest if you have any concerns about my presence here that you take them up with the Headmaster. Now, if you will excuse me…" Hermione sidestepped him and again moved toward the library door. Before she could get to it she found her arm held in an iron grip.

Snape nearly growled as he held her in place. He towered over her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She felt her own body reacting to his familiar nearness, and it was all she could do not to simply curl into his side and stay there forever. She hastily pushed away her desires. Her husband was dead; it didn't matter how like him this man was. She simply couldn't replace one with the other. Strengthening her resolve, Hermione fought in vain to wrench her arm away. Snape merely squeezed tighter, leaning forward till they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Don't for one minute think that you have me fooled. I don't know what you suspect this little charade will accomplish, but I won't let you make a fool out of the Headmaster." Hermione couldn't help but gasp at the vehemence in his words. He roughly released her and she stumbled, suddenly overbalanced. He gave her another scathing look as he reached toward the door handle. "I will be watching you, Miss Granger." With that statement he melted into the darkness, leaving Hermione reeling from the intensity of his attack.

"Well," she said to the empty room. "That certainly complicates things."