Disclaimer:- I neither own nor earn anything. I do this for pure love of exploring situations with these characters.

sSs

A/N:- All thanks to my betas FalconLux and Worrywart who yet again have waded through my missed punctuation and brought it to heel, thank you. The mirror – Hermione's mirror in the last chapter caused many comments. I know it's a wonderful idea, and we'd all have one if we could. I wish I knew how to make one, I'd post the instructions. Cheers everyone for all your lovely and encouraging comments. This is a very angst ridden chapter, both it and the next fill in detail, however the tide turns in the next chapter, so please bear with me.

hHh

Chapter 4 - Of Trials and Tribulations

Despite her incredibly late night, Hermione's eyes shot open at six o'clock. As soon as she was awake enough to notice, she realised that all the lustre from the night before had definitely worn off. After attempting to get comfortable for a while, the Arithmancy professor finally realised she was not going to get any more sleep.

Sighing in exasperation, she pushed herself up in bed a little. A large knot formed in her stomach, as her mind instantly wandered back to Severus and Lucius. Severus had said he would see her very soon, and Hermione wondered exactly how long that would be.

He had been so gallant last night. The lonely witch had found herself completely and utterly intoxicated by him. She sighed, but in the stark light of day, a sobering realisation hit her very hard. He may have said that just to be polite. Her mood instantly sank lower. That's probably more like it. Exhaling louder, Hermione sighed, and unable to find any of the comfort or peace of mind she'd had the previous evening, she felt her sense of desperation grow.

The Arithmancy mistress was well aware her movements were being watched in the Wizarding world. People were more than happy to gossip to Harry and Ron about what they'd seen her doing. Hermione knew her rooms were safe, so they were the only place she let her hair down, so to speak.

When she was outside the privacy of her quarters, she was well dressed and groomed, but serious and bookish. It had struck her more than once; she now resembled a female version of the Severus Snape she'd known as a student. Both he and Lucius wore their clothing like public armour. Then more thoughts flitted through her brain, giving her cause to ponder. I wonder what they're like in private? Maybe Severus gave me a tiny glimpse of that last night.

It hadn't taken Hermione long to find ways around the public scrutiny that merely buying an item of clothing could cause. She did something most wizards would have little or no knowledge of, she used the Muggle Internet. It was a wonderful tool; every time she was in London, she made certain she checked out her favourite sites.

Hermione ordered things online that she would never be able to buy in the shops. Especially Wizarding shops, where the far reaching, glorious Saint Harry and his idiot side kick may gather fodder for their seemingly endless ridicule. Then having a central London mail box also solved the delivery problem.

Her traditional teaching attire was often supplemented from vintage Goth sites on the web, as well as items from Madame Malkin to keep up appearances. The Arithmancy professor actually had a whole secret life that had kept her sane throughout this madness.

Hermione had long ago stopped wondering what her actual crime had been. She was fairly certain though that defending the two Slytherin spies was only her tormentors excuse for treating her so badly. Even if she took into consideration that they hated the two men, surely by now they should have seen reason.

This coupled with the jealously that Dumbledore had entrusted her with information they knew nothing of, only further fuelled their hatred. Hermione shook her head. "What's done is done, don't try to work it out," she cautioned herself, irritatedly.

Although, when she had been approached by Dumbledore in her sixth year, she'd no idea the repercussions of the task he'd set her would still be hurting her. The old wizard had trusted her, and she was very proud of that. Hermione had only been sixteen when, he, with Professor's McGonagall and Snape had inducted her into the Order of the Phoenix.

Even then, Dumbledore's hand was withered and black, and he was dying. Hermione had instantly recognised it as curse damage and wondered why more people hadn't. One of the last conversations she'd had with the venerable old wizard had concerned her house placement.

He'd told her she would have done better had she been placed in Ravenclaw. Of course, this was something she already knew. What had surprised her was that he'd apologised for the hat's thoughts that it had been necessary to place her in Gryffindor, to have her befriend the boy destined to slay the monster. More than once over the last ten years, she'd wondered if Albus had any conception that the boy who slew that monster would unwittingly turn into one himself.

Hermione wished she could get her mind back to its state of the night before. She irritatedly called for her morning coffee as her brain kept insisting on its dissection of her position. These thoughts followed her into the bathroom to pee, and she huffed before rearranging her pillows and climbing back into bed. It was times like this when she missed Crookshanks.

He not only listened, but she could hold him. He'd been a very comforting presence, but the old half Kneazle had slipped peacefully from this world, curled up on her lap last winter. She glanced at the spot he used to sit and sighed.

Only Minerva, Poppy and Hagrid knew he was gone. It had taken the two witches hours to manage to part her from his dead body when they'd turned up at her room that day because they hadn't seen her out and about.

Minerva had called Hagrid to bury him, and the four friends had provided her much loved familiar with a proper funeral on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Tears slipped from her eyes as she recalled it all. She had never thought to replace him, not ever having found a companion equal to him. Yes, it's definitely time to get up, Hermione decided.

Sitting trembling on the side of her bed, she wiped her eyes and finally remembered she'd assured Minerva she would make certain the accommodations and teaching equipment were prepared for the new professors.

She started with cleaning up what was left of the mess the last Potions professor had left. Now that the team of magical surveyors had finished making certain the integrity of the dungeons hadn't been compromised in the explosion, and the castle had repaired itself.

By the end of the day both the History of Magic and Potions quarters may well have new residents, so this needed to be completed. The now anxious woman knew she was clutching at straws, so she didn't have to admit to herself that she had allowed herself to want. Wanting merely led to hurting, it was a set pattern in her life. It was a pattern she wished with all her heart was different.

Without warning, a terrifying question entered her head. How much longer can I live like this? Hermione rose suddenly from the bed, frightened of the answer she knew was there. All her coping strategies appeared to be falling to dust around her. Life was spiralling out of control again. This depressing thought accompanied her to the bathroom.

xox

Now showered and dressed, Hermione headed towards the Great Hall. As she approached, she heard the happy chatter wafting through the open door. However, the weak but still warm winter sun streaming through the huge front doors was beckoning her outside. Turning away, Hermione paused, hearing a petulant toddler's voice state imperiously. "I hate her, I wish she would go back to Mummy's tummy." Hermione smiled wistfully, hearing Xanthie obviously not able to get on Luna's lap because of little Alice.

Hermione heard Minerva admonish. "Xanthia Hermione Longbottom that's a terrible thing to say about Alice."

Next, a tearful wail meet Hermione's ears. "But I wants Mummy."

Finally, the listening woman heard a male voice come to the rescue. "Come on, Xanthie, you can sit with Uncle Bill," the kindest Weasley she currently knew stated.

"Me wants Auntie 'Mione," the little girl cried, stamping her foot. However, still unseen, Hermione was moving quickly away and out the great front doors. She felt very guilty as she did, but truth was, at the moment, she couldn't stand the fact that everyone had family but her.

A quiet sob escaped her. Why is everything falling apart this morning? Swallowing hard, she called an elf and requested another, stronger coffee. Summoning her cloak, she decided on a walk to try and settle herself before she had to face any of them.

The morning resembled the night before, crisp and clear. There was a layer of still frigid mist rising from the water to about knee height and hugging the ground as she meandered towards the lake. The fog swirled around her as her skirts and cloak disturbed it, giving the impression that she was emerging out of the mist as she found the path.

Sipping her coffee, the Arithmancy professor's feet wandered of their own accord through the crispness of the morning. Even though it was late spring, it was still cold in the Highlands of Scotland, and the remnants of last night's frost clung to the blades of grass and crunched under foot if her step strayed too far from the well worn path.

It really came as no surprise when she realised she'd stopped in the same spot she always seemed to stop. Sighing, she dried her favourite boulder and cast a warming charm on it and herself. Being in her present mood, was bad enough without even thinking about the memories this spot brought to her.

Her brain defied her common sense yet again, and continued down it reflective path. It recalled in startling detail the reason she gravitated here so often. This was the last place she had stood with the two men who had reappeared last night, but it had been ten years ago, and just before they'd left.

The wizards from last night were a far cry from the two who had departed all that time ago. At the time, neither man was in good shape. Severus could barely speak and needed to finish healing after Nagini had attempted to rip his throat out. Lucius was still undergoing treatment to reverse curse damage, which had caused his joints to seize up and twist with arthritis.

Most people had had trouble sleeping after their experiences, and took the occasional sleeping potion. However, both spies had been seriously screwed up, and were completely unable to get any rest without Dreamless Sleep.

Though the three of them were more than mere acquaintances after their trials together, they had still been very formal with each other. Hermione recalled how they had come to feel comfortable around her. She knew they'd both been uncomfortable with her after everything she'd done for them... perhaps they felt guilty.

Growing up in the shadow of the Wizarding war, their treatment of her had always been harsh at best, which she suspected only made them feel worse now. Still, the pleasure she'd felt in their presence was something more than she could have ever expected.

Once the war was won, life had changed quickly. Harry and Ron had disappeared on an extended holiday, paid for by the Ministry. Hermione had been horrified when she'd found out. It had been the final blow to their already floundering friendship.

Then, especially finding out from Molly that the Weasley matriarch had been informed by her son and his best friend that she, Hermione, told them to invite Ginny in her place, Hermione had been livid; she hadn't even known about the whole thing and would never have condoned it if she had. There was so much work still left to do, they shouldn't have just disappeared like that.

The plain fact was that she had outgrown them. She was sick of picking up the pieces every time they decided to ignore the rules, and was frustrated and bored with their constant Quidditch chatter and gutter talk about the opposite sex. Nothing else appeared to exist in their shallow little, self absorbed worlds.

So, Hermione had pushed her hurt down and realised she was indeed better off without them. She had thrown herself whole heartedly into realising Dumbledore's task instead. The young woman recognized immediately that she could use her new found fame, not to whine for holidays or personal favours as they had, but to help her complete Dumbledore's request.

Looking back up at the castle, Hermione recalled how she'd stayed at Hogwarts, the first night on the lounge in Minerva's office. However, it wasn't long before Minerva asked her if she would mind taking over brewing the vast amounts of potions needed for the injured in the magically extended Hospital Wing. The day after the battle, having no Potions master in residence meant no supply of new potions to replace those used, and the headmistress knew Hermione was a proficient brewer.

It came as a surprise when said headmistress had gone on to tell her she came highly recommended. "Who said that?" the stunned Hermione had asked, blinking.

The answer had astonished her even more. Minerva had laid a hand on her arm. "Surprisingly, Severus' unguarded opinion," she told her. It had apparently slipped out somewhere during the year Hermione was absent.

Nodding and still in shock, the Gryffindor witch had, in turn, requested she be able to call the undamaged dungeon class room and office home while she waited for more suitable accommodation to become available.

In those early days after the battle, Hermione had brewed Burn Salve, a pain potion, Dreamless Sleep, Blood Replenisher, and Skelegro, along with many others, literally by the bucket full while she put the final touches on the evidence she had gathered.

She had often thought of the two wizards, especially her former teacher. She recalled how much it had hurt her, to think of him probably in significant pain and weakness. There had been no medical aid close at hand for them, the vanquished captives. She should have hated them both, but she knew the truth of their situation, and looked past their treatment of her as the obvious act it had been to maintain their covers.

Her mind then delved deeper into the mire, and she summoned up how, when she had finally received word that she could visit the two arrested spies, the reality of their situation had been far worse than she could ever have imagined. That first day when she had been ushered into the black tiled corridor, the stench that accosted her nose had made her want to retch.

It brought the Final Battle flooding back into her mind, a potent mix of sweat, urine, blood, vomit and death. She scoffed to herself. Any notion I had of waltzing into the Ministry and instantly having them freed had been immediately squashed. Hermione had actually wondered if perhaps the officials had wished to forget about the occupants in the cages in that passageway, and were hoping they would just go away, or die or something, so they didn't have to deal with them.

Her senses still reeled, remembering that stench. It actually smelt like the process had already started and nobody had given a damn. She remembered holding her chin high and closing her ears to the barbs assaulting her senses from the wounded caged beasts on either side of the hallway. Hermione had been directed to the very end cubicle. When she had finally seen her targets, tears had prickled her eyes.

It had taken great effort, but she had swallowed them down. The wizards she had come to see were still wearing the clothes they had been captured in. Both men languished, barely conscious and in obvious agony, on the hard tiled floor. Their wand arms manacled to the wall way above their head capturing their magic. Hermione remembered being horrified, and she'd marched straight into the new Minister's office. Even now, as she sat on her rock, coffee mug clutched in her hands, tears of remembrance trickled down her cheeks at the memory still burnt indelibly into her brain of that wretched sight.

Still reminiscing, Hermione wiped the tears and barked a laugh at her audacity in getting their situation improved. She was nothing if not bossy back then. She'd used this gift, knowing it was something she did very well. Hermione had brought to bear every ounce of her influence to make life better for them. "When I was a guest of Voldemort's torture chamber, I was treated better than you are treating them now," she had ranted at Shacklebolt. "We won the war, but what good is that if it makes us bigger monsters than they were?"

Once he had let her talk herself out, Kingsley had escorted her back to the dreaded passageway and saw firsthand what was happening right under his nose. That had been her first victory. It didn't matter to her that all of them had been rehoused with more dignity, but it meant the two men she had promised to help were now receiving medical attention, decent food, shower, and exercise privileges.

They had an iron cot each with a mattress, and instead of being shackled to a wall, they only wore a cuff on their wrist to contain their magic. However, that first day as she'd returned to the safety of her makeshift home, she'd vomited twice on the way up the drive. She had come here that day as well to let her tears for them fall.

When they were finally able to communicate with her without their pain taking all their attention, they had acted very stiffly towards her, hardly speaking. They were obviously embarrassed and confused. However, never once did she throw their situation in their face, or belittle them, and slowly they relaxed with her, especially after hearing what she'd demanded on their behalves.

Her eyes focused suddenly, after her ears registered a splash that pulled her from her thoughts. She raised her eyes from her introspective study of the contents of her coffee mug to see the giant squid frolicking in the deep water of the Black Lake.

She watched entranced for a moment, but soon her insistent memory tugged her back to her recollections. Their estimation had grown further as they'd repeatedly watched her holding her head high and enduring the taunts and barbs from true Death Eaters to come and visit them. They never heard a word in self righteous anger from her at the abuse in all that time either. Each time she came to see them, and they heard her speak quietly, with poise and dignity, their respect and admiration for her had seemed to grow.

By the time they had their freedom, the three of them had developed a guarded, but sincere friendship of a sort. Therefore, the day after they were released, when the men came to find her to privately give their thanks and tell her they were leaving for an undetermined amount of time, it had been comfortable.

Hermione looked up at the just budding tree. It had been spring then too, such a bittersweet memory. At the time, she had agreed with them that their plan was indeed an excellent one. However, the next day when she had returned to her tree, a great weight seemed to drop through her stomach. To a great extent it had been there ever since. She had realised she missed them, especially the raven-haired wizard.

Three days after the two Slytherins had departed, Harry, Ron and Ginny returned from their escape to who knows where. Nobody, least of all Hermione had expected the animosity the boys showed on learning how she had helped the two spies gain their freedom. It was at this point that her memories started to become too painful, and she brushed away a tear and tried for a change of subject. Finally, she gave up and hopping off her rock, strolled back to the castle.

xox

It had been decided this year to mark the tenth anniversary of The Final Battle; there would be a week's holiday for all Hogwarts students. It was unlikely to become a permanent fixture but it had come in handy, while the Potions classroom was being refitted. Hermione wondered if the Ministry had used the holiday as a way of getting out of rehousing Slytherin House while repairs were being made.

The small cluster of her fellow wizards and witches breakfasting around the table, set in the middle of the hall, did manage to pull her from her reflections, although only because Hermione felt a fresh pang of pain shoot through her.

Something more than the usual feeling that there was no one for her at the table was affecting her today, and it was cutting much deeper this morning. They all looked round as Hermione entered, watching her soberly walk towards them. Hermione saw Neville Longbottom hurry through the staff entrance.

Oblivious to her distress, he took great pains to greet his wife before gently stroking his newborn daughter's head as she slept in Luna's arms. After scruffing and kissing Frank and little Xanthia's heads, he finally acknowledged everyone else. It was a lovely scene, but in her present state it only made the pain more complete, and the misery much more profound.

Minerva graced the head of the table, her deputy - the diminutive Professor Flitwick - on her left, and Poppy Pomfrey on her right. Bill Weasley, who was DADA professor and head of Gryffindor these days, had already left. His wife, Fleur had moved back to France with their two children. Victoiré, who was in her first year at Beauxbatons Academy, and her younger sister Angeline who was nine.

Bill was port keying out tomorrow to spend time with his girls. Of course Neville was Herbology professor; he and Luna occupied quarters not unlike Hagrid's close to the greenhouses. Neville's wife Luna, was now the sole editor of The Quibbler. Hermione was not certain Minerva actually approved of the questionable publication being produced on the grounds of Hogwarts. However, in order to keep the best Herbology Professor in Europe, she tolerated it.

Hermione's eyes were just turning to Hagrid, when twin cries of joy erupted from the two Longbottom children. "Auntie 'Mione, come sit with us." Frank vacated his seat and moved up one.

He needn't have bothered because as soon as she sat, Hermione was engulfed in a slobbery kiss and hug by Xanthie, who then bounced on her knee happily, chortling about pruning in greenhouse six with Daddy yesterday. "Did you know, Auntie 'Mione, that it's bad to bangs a drum when baby's is asleep?"

Hermione smiled. "Is that why you went pruning with Daddy?" At her discrete inquiry, the little head of blonde curls bounced in the affirmative. "Oh I see," replied Hermione glancing at Neville, coming to retrieve his daughter.

"Come on, sweet pea; let Auntie 'Mione eat her breakfast," Neville said gathering his family, before continuing to the hall at large. "We'll see you all tomorrow." Farewells and hugs were exchanged and the family left. They were flooing to Neville's Grandmother's for the day.

As the Longbottoms were leaving, Luna drew Hermione into a hug and in her own dreamy fashion said. "Remember, it's always darkest before the dawn, love," she kissed Hermione's cheek, and skipped after her husband, leaving Hermione confused as she tried to force herself to eat most of the piece of toast. It was then that Minerva quietly pushed the Daily Prophet in front of her. The Arithmancy Professor took in the headline with wide eyes,

"Intrigue at Anniversary Ball!"

Under the headline was a picture of Kingsley taking Ron in hand, and an article wondering if Ron Weasley had finally gone too far and should be accountable for his actions?

Hermione spread jam on her toast, but now she couldn't quite manage to finish it. She pushed it away, wondering what sort of trouble this would cause. The Gryffindor witch jumped when Hagrid's chair scraped on the floor as he got up. "Me 'n Firenze be goin in da forest," he announced noisily, but stopping at Hermione's chair, he patted her shoulder. "T'll be jez fine, 'Ermyne," he assured, before lumbering toward the huge front doors.

Minerva cast a look after him and turned back to her shaken companion. "He's right you know, dear," she stated. "There's a new wind blowing through the Prophet now Skeeter's gone."

"Yes, you'll see; you have allies you've never known about," Flitwick and Poppy added encouragingly.

Hermione stared at her toast. "Maybe," she said cautiously, but pushed her plate away. "I'm not very hungry."

Minerva patted her hand. "Stop worrying; things really are changing." Hermione gave her a half hearted smile and gave a second glance to the paper.

Minerva turned to Flitwick, knowing it actually would all work out this time. There really was nothing more she could say. "Well Filius, you said three applicants?" The genial Charms professor nodded, but didn't seem happy. "Well, we better set up the hall for the interviews."

Poppy sounded bothered when she finally spoke up. "So we should have a new Potions professor by this evening?"

"I'm afraid not, Poppy," Filius cut in, "there are only three applicants for old Binns' position, none I'm afraid for Potions."

"Oh dear," Poppy muttered under her breath.

Picking up on Poppy's concern despite her own troubles, Hermione asked. "Why, are you running low on something, Poppy?"

"Just about everything; that last woman refused to brew for the infirmary," she stated with a huff.

"Poppy, why didn't you say?" Minerva looked even more irritated now.

"Because Minnie, you already had too much on your plate, and I had a store room full of backups at the beginning of the year," she shrugged. "However, even handing them out sparingly they went quickly, and I couldn't really ask Hermione to brew for me when there was a qualified brewer on hand, could I?" Turning to the woman in question. "I don't suppose you could… I hate to take up your holidays. But, I really need to get my store room full before the students get back.

The two women had started pushing their chairs in. Hermione sighed. "Send my elf with the list, I'll see what I can do." She tried to smile but felt it fall flat, so she shrugged instead and thought, Great, just another painful reminder of a missing man.

"Merlin knows what this place would do without this girl, Minnie," Poppy said, patting Hermione's arm, hoping some praise might cheer her up.

"I hope we never have to find that out," the Headmistress replied smartly, giving Hermione a tight smile before she grimaced and tried not to groan as she pushed herself slowly up from the table. "That just keeps getting harder and harder," the elderly witch grumbled softly. Filius attempted to help her, but Hermione noticed he was having just as much trouble.

Hermione watched their discomfort and once she was outside the Great Hall, she questioned Poppy about it. "Why are they not taking something for that?"

"I've run out of Arthritis Potion, I even tried the Apothecary's," she shrugged. "But, they've all run out as well, something about a shortage of Aspen leaves."

"Oh," Hermione sighed, that would have been her next suggestion. "I've never made it. It's a fairly complicated potion from what I've heard. I'll have a look at it though, see if maybe I can..." her voice trailed off and her eyes took on a far away expression. Finally she shook herself. "I'm planning to check out Binns' old room first. Then I'll go to the library and get a book on medicinal potions, before attacking the Potions rooms."

As they started walking, Hermione gave the Matron a quizzical look. "Who filled the store room last time?"

"The guy before the last one," Poppy replied then laughed, "you know, the one who took on the long term position and dropped it for a cushy Ministry job the minute he found out what teaching children was actually like." They reached the bottom of the stairs, "But he was at least an adequate brewer," she added thoughtfully.

Hermione let out a hollow snort as they started climbing the stairs. "That sounds just like something Severus would say."

The Matron sighed. "Mmm, I guess so." She glanced at her companion hearing the slight crack in her voice. "You know, I miss him too," the Matron continued sympathetically.

However, when she got no reply, the kind old woman rubbed Hermione's arm and said quietly. "You know everything will work out." Hermione shrugged dejectedly. "I'll get that list to you," Poppy finished, not really knowing what to say next.

They parted company as the stairway split. Hermione turned away, not trusting her voice and merely nodded. Oh Poppy, not as much as I do, she brushed a tear away, Last night was the first time in a very long time that I've felt safe or wanted.

Her eyes were a blurred sheen when she'd reached her destination. Thinking that it had been a one off encounter and he wouldn't be back was starting to tear her apart. Really, all she wanted to do at this moment was go to her rooms, collapse on her bed and howl, "This day is just getting worse and worse," she mumbled.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to hope because she'd been disappointed far too many times. The misery from having hopes dashed was far worse than never admitting to wanting in the first place.