"I'm telling you, it's his handwriting," Harry stated, watching Hermione pace back and forth in the small room. "Merlin knows how much of it I had to read as corrections on my essays."
Hermione gave an inelegant grunt of acknowledgement, her mind racing at the implications of Harry's information. "It could be an old note. From before, when Remus and Tonks stayed there. Order business, or for Remus' Wolfsbane."
Harry nodded at this. "Maybe. But why would Andromeda keep it after all this time? It was in a stack of new correspondence. Even if Teddy had found it playing, why would she slip it into that stack? Why not just vanish it if it didn't mean something?"
Hermione stopped pacing and considered Harry's questions and knew it wasn't some old Order communication, and the note had to mean something. She drew a slightly unsteady breath. Hermione had spent more than 6 months tirelessly searching and researching for any sign of Severus Snape after the boys started their Auror training. It was a singular fixation; an all-consuming foundation of her existence, until Harry had returned to Grimmauld one day and found what her obsession had done to her. She had become gaunt, with well-worn dark patches under her eyes. She had become a lifeless shell, solely intent on her ambitious goal to understand a mystery everyone else had simply accepted. The beautiful library she had painstakingly assembled as her final renovation to the house, looked to be in shambles.
Harry had taken one look at her, a state he had not seen since the darkest days of their Horcrux hunt, and physically removed her from her perch behind the desk. He picked her up over his shoulder, marched her up the stairs to the bathroom attached to his room and gracefully placed her in the shower. Hermione protested loudly the whole way, cursing and calling him a "noble, pompous git", and demanding her wand. He turned on the spray, drowning out her protests and ignored their fully clothed state. Harry slid his arms around her waist, trapping her gently in the small space with him. She had drummed her fists against him as he waited patiently. The water was unrelenting but warm, Harry's hold was kind but firm, and Hermione finally broke. She cried out once, fiercely, and Harry flinched at the agony of the sound. He then tightened his hold as she crumpled against him, stroking her wet hair. He knew she had failed in her quest, and she would need time to recover and forgive herself.
When they excited the shower 10 minutes later, Harry used his wand to dry them, but handed Hermione a jumper from his dresser drawer before guiding her across the hall to her own room and the bed she hadn't slept in in weeks. He closed the door behind him and headed to the library where he warded the door close for a week.
"I have to see Andromeda," Hermione finally spoke. "Would she be willing to speak with me?"
"I think so, if I asked her and explained the situation." Harry responded. He took a step closer to her, he needed his next words to matter. "'Mi, I don't want to lose you again."
Hermione squared up to Harry and took in his worried eyes, concern etched through every feature of his face. She knew he was remembering how he had found her at the end of her attempt to learn more about Snape's disappearance. She gently cupped his cheek. "Haz."
The unspoken communication they shared filled the silence. Hermione's reassurance that she would be more measured in her investigation, and Harry's steadfastness to keep her from drowning in her own ambition concluded in an agreement to seek Andromeda over the coming weekend. The two friends could do no more than share small, matching smiles as they excited the room. Harry turning one direction at the end of the hall, Hermione another, with promises of owls and floo calls to arrange the meeting.
—xx—
Hermione returned home after her shift at St. Mungo's. The comfortable and modest flat had been her first true venture into adulthood upon its purchase three months ago. It was situated in a quite building near The Leaky Cauldron on the Muggle side. She walked to The Leaky on the days she worked, and flooed into the staff locker room at St. Mungo's, but she could also leave her building to explore areas of London she had always been eager to see growing up.
That evening, after changing into casual clothes, gathering the post dropped by the owls throughout the day, and settling comfortably on her couch, Hermione allowed her mind to relax, releasing the occlumency shields she erected every morning. She had been crafting them with care since her sixth year, and the ritual of building and dismantling them was ingrained in her daily routine, much as waking and dressing. Tonight, as they fell around her mind, she allowed herself to explore the memories she kept so closely guarded by them.
It was the infamous Slug Club Christmas party, and Hermione had once again, just narrowly avoided Cormac McClaggen's overly enthusiastic hands. She dove behind an emerald drapery to regain her composure and stay hidden for another few minutes. She released the breath she was holding and adjusted the front of her dress, smoothing the material under her hands. "Miss Granger."
Hermione jumped as her name floated out from behind her. She turned to face the distinguished dark form of her former potions master standing perfectly poised in the hiding spot she had chosen. Hermione realized she must have mistaken his dark robes for shadows created by the various hanging silks, unknowingly tucking herself into a corner with Severus Snape. "Professor."
Silence fell between the two, and the only movement was Snape's arched eyebrow. "I'm sorry," Hermione started. "I didn't mean to-I should just go."
She turned back to peak out around the curtain. She could see McClaggen talking to a pretty seventh year girl, laying his charm on thickly as the girl flitted her eyes around the room, searching for an out. Hermione knew venturing from her hiding spot would attract his attention, but she pulled herself up, calling on her courage. Hermione began to take a step from the muted darkness when she felt Snape's presence draw up behind her. She froze as his robes billowed slightly against her. "If only Mr. McClaggen applied half as much effort to his studies as he does to his ego stroking, he may find himself treated to the company of someone worthy."
Hermione looked over her shoulder and up to her professor. Snape's face still looked out at the interactions of the crowd, but he trained his eyes at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he swept past her, giving her the hiding spot and confusion at the twisted complement. It was the first time Snape had ever said something not openly critical to her, and his eyes had burned into her as though willing her to identify the subtlety with which he acknowledged her. Hermione shook her head, accepted the praise, and watched the billowy black robes retreat from their briefly shared hiding spot.
Hermione rose from her place on the couch, crossing her modest living room to one of many bookcases that lined the walls. She reached for an unassuming, unadorned wooden box. After acquiring it, she returned to the couch to open it and let the next memory wash over her.
Hermione awoke in the tent. It was cold, quiet, and she knew something was wrong. She couldn't feel Harry near. It was a connection that had developed, much like their communication, in Ron's absence, and Hermione knew Harry wasn't outside where he was supposed to be. She went to the entrance of the tent and confirmed that Harry was gone. Hermione felt panic rise within her. She was alone. Wandless. Harry was gone. She didn't know if she was more terrified for herself or for her best friend. He could not be found, and she had taken it upon herself to protect him. Had she really failed because she had desperately needed a few hours of rest? Her eyes searched the darkness in front of the tent. Hermione could feel that the wards were still there; it gave her some small assurance. If something had happened to Harry the wards would be broken, the magic could not be sustained if the caster was dead. The panic eased, and Hermione knew the only thing she could do was wait. She returned to searching the darkness. A movement caught her attention.
It looked like an abnormally large moth flying in the blackness of the forest. It glided and floated toward her. Hermione was startled as it approached, and identified its form to be that of parchment, folded and flattened to have wings. She thought of the crane Malfoy had sent across the classroom towards her in third year. She reached her hand out to grasp the paper creature. It radiated with magic between her fingers. Hermione knew it had to be imbued with strong charms to pass the wards and find her. She hoped, against all logic, that there was nothing sinister in its arrival. That wherever, and whoever, it was from was an ally. She unfolded the paper and saw the black scrawl of her former Professor.
It hadn't been long after that Hermione could see Harry return, Ron in tow. The note was forgotten in her beaded bag.
Hermione's fingers traced the writing on the parchment now. She had long ago memorized it and had spent countless days cursing her inability to see the message for the clue it had been. "He then greeted Death as an old friend and went with him gladly to parting his life, as equals."
Professor Snape had tried to guide them. Tried to tell her what Harry's true role in the war was to be. Tried to tell her what his own fate was to be, Hermione thought. She returned the paper to the box, and the box to the shelf. She felt fatigued and did not wish to revisit her final memory that evening. Too many nights she had fallen asleep to the image of Severus Snape's blood stained, tear streaked face in the Shrieking Shack.
A/N: It's been 3 updates in 3 days, and I can't be more appreciative of the reception. Thanks to all that have favorited, followed, and reviewed. It's a lovely feeling to see this story be received well. Please know I do read my reviews and messages. Keep spreading the love, we all need it right now.
